Before Crisis: The Beginning
by The Inimitable DA
Summary: Before Cloud and co. a war raged between AVALANCHE and the Turks. Series of Before Crisis snippets, more or less following the original 24 episodes. All characters.
1. The Beginning: St Andrew

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own Before Crisis or any part of Final Fantasy VII. Square-Enix does. The only thing that's really mine is this kernel of an idea and the name for Playable Character (Rod), whom I have taken the liberty of naming St. Andrew. If you don't know who Rod is or what Before Crisis is... I'd provide you with links, but for some reason FF.N's editor keeps eating them. . So... Google it.

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**Chapter One: The Beginning (St. Andrew)**

Today just wasn't his day. St. Andrew swore under his breath.

It was supposed to have been an easy round. Go in, grab the bike and get out. How the hell was he supposed to know that it'd end up like this?

Wiping the blood out of his eye, he glared up at the smirking redhead standing above him. The redhead – Reno, he had said his name was – was idly tapping his EMR against his shoulder, watching him. St. Andrew snarled. "What are you waiting for?"

Reno shrugged, his smirk melting instantly into an expression of affected boredom. "For you to get up. How long are you gonna stay down there with that look on your face?"

Huh? What the hell was this guy on? There was no way he was just going to let St. Andrew go, right? He looked warily at Reno. Reno rolled his eyes.

"Come on, get up. I don't have all day."

"Like hell," St. Andrew grated. "I'll fight you again."

"I don't think so." Reno gave St. Andrew a sharp poke with his EMR, sending the other man sprawling onto the floor again. Around him, the other security guards and the medical staff that had arrived in response to the ruckus watched the Turk and the intruder warily. Nobody was sure what to expect.

"You're in no position to fight anymore. Look around you." That smirk was back in place again. "Shin-Ra's got the best security in the world, kid, and right now you're right in the middle of all of it." He shrugged. "I'm not gonna stop you though. If you want to fight me – and the guards – and the robo-security then go right ahead. You'd have to be pretty fucking stupid, though."

"It beats being caught," St. Andrew said, grinning viciously. It wasn't that he was confident he could get out with his hide remotely intact, but damned if he was going to show weakness in front of this guy. He was too arrogant for all that.

Reno shook his head, his face twisted into an expression of tragic despair. "You don't get it, do you kid? I'm trying to say that if you fight again, you're gonna die." He swung his EMR around, pointing the business end at St. Andrew's jugular. "Why don't you take the high road?"

"What do you mean?" St. Andrew ignored the weapon at his throat.

"I mean, join us. The Turks could use someone like you." Reno grinned. "You put up a good fight. You even managed to put a couple scratches on me. What do you say?"

St. Andrew gaped. "What?" He couldn't be serious. Wasn't he going to be arrested?

"Oh, come on. Stop looking at me like that. I'm serious. I'll just talk to Tseng and you'll be in before you know it."

"In what?"

Reno looked surprised. "You mean you don't recognize the suit?" He laughed. "I mean the Turks. What else would I be talking about?"

St. Andrew blanched. The Turks? He'd heard of them before. Everybody had. They were supposed to be one of the Shin-Ra Company's elites. He'd never seen one before, though they were said to be a dangerous bunch to get caught up with. Suddenly his glare was back. "How do I know you're not lying?"

The redhead threw back his head and laughed. "You think I'd waste my time trying to convince you if I was lying?" Reno's head snapped back, and suddenly his expression was completely serious, despite the fact that there was still a trace of a smile on his thin mouth. "Kid, I wouldn't bother. I'd have just killed you or hauled your ass in."

Touché. St. Andrew rubbed at his head, which was still smarting from their earlier fight. "Okay, say I believe you. What do I have to do?" There had to be a catch somewhere, after all.

"Nothing." Reno shrugged. "Just come with me. Like I said, I'll clear the way for you. It's better than running around with a bunch of street punks stealing crap for the rest of your life, isn't it?"

St. Andrew bristled. Stealing crap? What did he take him for?

"You and your gang are small fry," Reno said bluntly, apparently reading St. Andrew's thoughts. "Not even worth the time it would take to deal with. You'll never go anywhere with them."

St. Andrew smirked. "And you're telling me I will if I join you?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

He considered this. St. Andrew had been made the leader of his gang in Junon less than a year ago. He was the best there was, nobody doubted that. But if Reno had beaten him so easily, what did that say?

If he stayed with the gang, he would have respect and authority, unquestioned by no one – until one day someone tried to challenge him. He would constantly be fighting to keep his place. And say he did manage to hold on, then what? He would stay in Junon, dealing and stealing, fighting turf wars with other gangs. It was fun right now, but what about when it stopped being fun? What would he do then?

He laughed, a sound that was more like a low bark than anything else. So that's the way it was, then.

"Take me to this Tseng," St. Andrew muttered.

Reno leaned forward. "What?"

"I said take me to your boss," St. Andrew said loudly, glaring at the other man.

Reno laughed. Offering his hand, he pulled St. Andrew up. "I knew you'd make the right choice. Come on rookie, let's go."

"Who are you calling rookie?" he demanded.

The redhead only laughed harder, leaving the bewildered security and paramedics behind them.

So this would be St. Andrew's future now. He didn't know what to expect, but he swore that one day he would beat Reno. Not only that, he would beat everybody else in the Turks and stand on top as number one. With that goal in mind, he walked with his strange companion to the elevators.

_

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_

_Afterword: _I know. I'm alive. o.o;;; Worse yet, I'm writing again. I've been working on these little Before Crisis things for a while now. I recently looked at them again and decided they weren't so bad, so I'm putting them up here. I'm not 100 percent sure where I'm going with all this, but I do have about 15 chapters already done, so I must be going somewhere. XD


	2. The Beginning : Samantha

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer: _If I owned Square-Enix or any of its characters, ideas, indicia… whatever…

…things would not be good. Let's all be glad that I don't.

_Author's Notes: _This time, we move onto a different character: (Shotgun) from Before Crisis, whom I have given the strikingly normal name of Samantha. (Sorry – I suppose I should have chosen something like Storm or Zephyr to go along with Cloud and Highwind. The name stuck; I've no wish to change it.)

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**Chapter Two: The Beginning (Samantha)**

When Samantha had announced that she was going to join the Turks, her parents had objected vehemently.

It wasn't because she would be joining the Shin-Ra Company. Unlike most of the others in Mideel, the Hartigan family had a number of business dealings with Shin-Ra affiliated companies and with the corporation itself; it was for this reason that they prospered.

It wasn't because taking up a job as one of Shin-Ra's Turks was considered unladylike; indeed, it was Samantha's parents who had introduced her to the fine sport of hunting, taking the young girl out when she was barely more than a toddler on forages in the woods and runs in the valleys.

It wasn't even that the job would be a dangerous one, although Samantha suspected this did worry her parents to some degree. Rather, the job, they said, would take her away from the family, and the plans they had for her.

To be fair to her parents, Samantha acknowledged that they had granted her much in her formative years, and she did owe them as a matter of obligation if not daughterly love. As a matter of fact, her childhood had been one in which she had known no privation, where her every whim and request had been granted instantly, and in which she had never known the meaning of the word "no".

And that, to Samantha, was exactly why it was important that she join the Turks. To her mind, her lifestyle was incomparable, but she didn't want to head straight into the favourable marriage her parents had no doubt already begun to arrange for her.

After what had been a blazing fight hot with tears and with much stamping and slamming of doors, Samantha had decided to follow her heart – even if it meant disobeying the wishes of her family.

So it was that one early morning, she found herself sneaking out of the estate, bypassing the watchmen and clambering out a side gate. She wasn't worried that she'd be seen by the cameras – after all, all she had to do was take the tests that would qualify her as a Turk. If she got in, that would put an end to the arguments. If she didn't, she could come back home, meek and apologetic, and life could go on as usual.

The nearest Shin-Ra training facility was in Junon. It took a day's journey by airplane to make it there. Samantha's arrangements had already been made for her, and she arrived under escort to a non-descript building in Upper Junon. She was lead down rather plain, almost-militaristic looking corridors to a set of double reinforced metal doors which slid open when one of her escorts slid a cardkey through the reader.

Inside was a large gymnasium like space with random crates spaced here and there. Off to the side were a couple of robots, inert. At the far end of the room a man in a dark suit was standing, apparently waiting for their arrival. He nodded at her escorts, who with smart salutes, turned around and left the room. The man approached.

"Miss Hartigan, yes? Welcome to Junon. I trust there were no problems on your journey?" It wasn't a question, and the man moved immediately to the point.

"You're here as a candidate for the Shin-Ra General Affairs Department, Investigative Division. You will undergo a series of exercises which will be evaluated by me and a hidden jury. You will be evaluated on a number of factors, including time, skill, speed, strength and ingenuity. The total time for the exercises will be eight hours. Do you have any questions so far?"

Samantha looked around. "Am I the only candidate here?"

"There are other candidates, but you are the only one here today, yes." The man continued. "We will begin at 10:00 tomorrow and will finish late tomorrow evening. If you pass the training exercises, you will be invited to an interview with the branch leader."

Samantha tried to hold down her incredulity at the schedule. She had known that it was going to be long, but surely they didn't expect her to run through all the exams without a break. She took one look at the agent and decided not to ask him; he seemed like the kind of person that would hold that kind of thing against her. She settled for a nod and a crisp "yes sir". The man nodded.

"You're free to do what you will until tomorrow at 10:00," he said. "Dismissed."

Samantha left, the beginnings of doubt starting to niggle at her. This was going to be harder than she had expected. What if she didn't make it? She realized then that she wanted to succeed – no she _needed_ to succeed.

Her head snapped up. What was she worrying about? She was a Hartigan. She would face this challenge head on, without balking or backing down. That was who she was. If her examiners couldn't recognize her talent, that was their problem, and their loss.

As it turned out, she needn't have worried. While the examinations were tough, she got through all of them. By the time evening rolled around, she was raring to go for some more, and was disappointed when she was told that she had completed the last of the exercises. Putting down her shotgun, she turned around as the man from yesterday approached, hitting the switch to end the simulation.

"All right. Take a ten minute break, then report back here. We'll have made our decision by then."

Instinctively, Samantha looked around. She hadn't once seen anybody else aside from this man. That didn't mean they weren't there, but she wondered where they were. She hadn't spotted any surveillance cameras either.

When ten minutes were up, Samantha found herself staring at a group of four suited men and women, including the man from before. The latter, apparently in charge of this group, stepped forward.

"We've come to our decision. You will be taken to Midgar tonight by helicopter where you'll be interviewed by second-in-command of the Turks. He'll be the one who will make the final decision. Congratulations. You've passed the first stage."

Samantha let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She'd done it. All she had to do now was pass this interview – surely that was easier than the trials she had endured today – and she was in. She smiled. "Thank you."

The man nodded briefly. "Take a shower and prepare to leave at 21:00. Dismissed."

She nearly skipped all the way back to the hotel. She'd made it. She'd as good as made it. She wasn't in the least worried about the interview. The hard part was over, and that's all that mattered. On the chopper, she had the soundest sleep she'd had in a long time, secure in the knowledge that by this time tomorrow, she would be a fully fledged Turk.

When she arrived at the offices of the Turks at Midgar, she took a deep breath. Tapping twice, she entered.

The office was typical of a lot other offices around the world – not that Samantha would have known this, but she imagined it was typical. It was a wide open space with a number of desks. Pairs of desks facing one another took up the centre of the room. There was nobody here, and the only sound she could hear was her own breathing in the empty room. Her apprehension was tempered somewhat by disappointment. Somehow, she had expected more.

Sighing, she turned slowly on the spot. Where was she supposed to be going? She'd been access to this area of the building, but aside from being told that Tseng's office was on this floor, she hadn't been given much else in the way of a clue.

The door opened then, and Samantha spun around, coming face to face with a man of somewhat shorter stature. His hair was tied back into a neat if somewhat unimaginative ponytail, and his eyes were dark. Judging by his features, she guessed he was from Wutai.

"You're Samantha Hartigan." The man spoke matter-of-factly. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Please, follow me."

She was lead past the bullpen to a door just off a small corridor. The man who called himself Tseng allowed her to go in first before letting the door shut behind her. He took his place behind his desk and motioned for her to sit.

"Your records came in just this morning," he said. "Tell me, Ms. Hartigan, why do you want to work for the Shin-Ra Company?"

Samantha blinked. Well, that was certainly abrupt. She had been expecting some sort of pleasantry before moving into the other questions. "Why wouldn't I want to work for the company?" she said, smiling charmingly. Tseng merely looked at her, steepled hands obscuring his face. She tried again.

"I mean, it's a well known company, isn't it? One of the world's best. And I'd get to travel…" She trailed off. Somehow this wasn't going the way she wanted it to.

"Do you know what it is the Turks do, Ms. Hartigan?"

"They recruit for SOLDIER candidates, don't they?" She winced mentally as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Why did she have to sound so unsure?

Tseng nodded briefly. "Is there anything else the Turks are known for?"

At this question, Samantha frowned. What else could he mean? She had been told the basics: that she'd be travelling quite a lot, that she'd be doing some classified work for the company in addition to the regular jobs of recruiting and security. She told Tseng this.

"I'm going to give you a hypothetical situation, and I'd like to you answer me honestly," the dark haired man said at last.

Samantha nodded, feeling uncomfortable and unsure at this point.

"Let's say you're on a mission to guard the president. There is a suicide bomber approaching him. What would you do?"

"Stop him, of course."

"What if that bomber was a small child?"

Samantha's eyes widened. "I…" She swallowed. "Tell me that hasn't really happened."

"As I said, it's a hypothetical scenario. Answer the question, Ms. Hartigan."

"I guess I would have to stop her then."

"You guess?"

"Yes." Samantha paused. "The president's life depends on it."

Tseng watched for several moments, silent. Finally, he nodded. "Let's try one more scenario. There is a contagion in a village several kilometres away from Midgar. There is no way to cure the disease at the present time. The village has been quarantined but there's still a chance the disease could spread. Finally a decision is made to immolate the village – with the people inside. You are given the order. What would you do?"

Again Samantha paused, shocked. Why was he asking all these horrible questions? "I would do it," she answered at last.

"Do what, Ms. Hartigan?"

"Burn the village," she said.

"Even with all those lives on your hands?"

Another pause. She answered in the affirmative.

"Ms. Hartigan, are you aware that even a split second's pause could compromise not only your life, but the lives of your comrades, those you are commissioned to protect, as well as those of innocent bystanders?" Tseng leaned forward, looking sternly at her. "If you're going to have these kinds of qualms, I'd have to advise you not to become a Turk. A conscience is a good thing for a person to have, but for a Turk, it's a liability."

Samantha wasn't sure which declaration took her more by surprise.

"You may be asked to do things that are objectionable. Doubtless you will be given orders that will trouble your conscience. The question is whether you can still do those things. Can you do them, Ms. Hartigan?"

When she didn't answer, Tseng stood up. "There is one other thing to consider, Ms. Hartigan, and I would be careful before giving an answer."

She looked up, struck dumb.

"Signing a contract of employment with the Turks is different from signing a regular contract as an employee with anybody else. Due to the classified nature of our work, we deal with a great many of the company's secrets. It would not to do have those secrets leaked out. That is part of the reason why all contracts are signed once, and are not renewed." He turned from the window, looking at her. "What I'm saying is that once you become a Turk, there is no question of your leaving to do something else. All contracts are tenured on a lifetime basis – you will continue to work as a Turk until your retirement."

Her eyes widened. She hadn't known that. Tseng could obviously see that, for he gestured for her to stand up. "I know this decision isn't one that can be made lightly. I'll give you time to think about it." He paused. "I'll have someone show you out."

Samantha blinked. "You mean I got the job?"

"Assuming you want to take up the offer, yes. If you do, you can speak with reception on the second floor and they'll tell you what to do from there. As I understand it, you're due to go back to Mideel the day after tomorrow, correct?"

At her nod, he turned back to the window. "You'll have until your departure time to give us a response. Have a good day, Ms. Hartigan."

Samantha left the Shin-Ra building, dazed. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was still early in the afternoon.

The rest of the day, Samantha remained in that daze. She had wanted to do some shopping, but even this activity, which usually relaxed her, couldn't get her mind of Tseng's words.

Could she do the kinds of things that Tseng was hinting at? Would she be able to live with herself? Was she willing to stake her life on a job?

With a start, Samantha realized that that was the point he had been trying to make. Being a Turk wasn't just a job. It was something she would have to commit to, much like a marriage.

She wondered what her parents would have to say if they knew she was here now. Her father was probably throwing a fit now, assuming he hadn't already sent out the private security corps to look for her. She didn't even want to think about the hysterics her mother must be going through. She had left a note, but… Maybe she should call them and tell them what she was considering.

No. Samantha shook her head vigorously. Hadn't she come here because she wanted to choose the direction of her life for herself? If she phoned them, she would almost be obliged to come back, and then she'd have no choice at all.

That night she slept terribly. The decision she was going to have to make was gnawing at her. What should she do?

The next day, she went to Shin-Ra headquarters and gave Tseng her response. Then, walking some distance from the building, she took out her mobile phone, hitting the speed dial for her parents' house.

"Mom…" Samantha paused. "I need to tell you something."

It was a hard decision for both her and her family, but Samantha knew, that in the end, she had made the right decision. As she stood with her fellow rookie Turks in front of Tseng and Veld, she stood up straight, her gaze never wavering. She was a Turk, and like a Turk she would look forward. There was no hesitation, and no regret. That was not who she was.

It had been, after all, her choice to make.

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_Additional Author's Notes:_ Yes, the mental leap that got Samantha from questioning whether being a Turk was the right thing from her to her final decision is fuzzy and vague. I left it that way on purpose. Try to work through the rationales yourself – perhaps you too will understand. :) 


	3. The Beginning: Rosalind

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own any of the FFVII Compilation, though I would very much like to. That particular honour belongs to Square-Enix. The only things I own are the names for the characters that don't have them in the first place... and about $35,000 in student debt. Sue at your own risk. :P

_Author's Notes: _BC character (Handgun) is up this time. I named her Rosalind years ago, and the name seems to have caught on with a few people here and there. I thought I would feel most comfortable writing from her point of view because I'd played as her in BC and because I translated all the game scripts from her POV. It turns out that wasn't necessarily the case. She's still one of my favourite BC Turks, though. :)

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**Chapter 3: The Beginning (Rosalind)**

As spring slid into summer, Rosalind realized that the time had come. This was her last year at the Shin-Ra Military School.

It came as something of a revelation to the young woman, who had spent the majority of her time so immersed in school that the passing of the seasons were barely noticed. It had been her mother that had reminded her of her birthday last year, as Rosalind had been so busy with a project or something else she couldn't even remember now. All she could remember was feeling surprise that it was indeed that day.

"So what are you going to do after graduating?" Rosalind's friend, Leira asked. She, like Rosalind was in her final year.

Rosalind shook her head. "I guess I'll go into the military."

"That sounds kind of boring," Leira said. "I mean, I guess that's where most people go, but I want to do something different."

"Like what?" Rosalind asked, shifting the books in her grip. They'd just come out of history class, and they had an assignment on Eastern-Western conflicts that was due next week. The books she needed wouldn't all fit into her bag, so she had spent the day carrying them around.

"I don't know." Leira's ponytails bounced jauntily on her shoulders. Flip, flop. Flip, flop. "I figure I'll go and work for the company, but not in the military. The military smells."

At this, Rosalind laughed. Well, Leira's option was viable, too. Many of the kids that didn't go onto the army found some other kind of employment within the Shin-Ra Company.

"But I bet you want to follow your dad, huh?"

Rosalind shrugged. "I don't know. But I guess it's the most logical thing to do."

"Huh. That's unexpected."

"What is?"

"I thought you would have been sure of what you wanted to do."

At this, Rosalind sighed. That's what everybody thought, and that's what she wished, but the fact of the matter was, she was just as unsure as everybody else. Joining the military would just be a matter of convenience for her. Maybe she would think of something after the regular contracted stint in the army… hopefully.

The intercom crackled to life. Rosalind and the other kids ignored it. It was probably another announcement or motto from the headmaster.

"This is an announcement from the headmaster's office. Student number 8079918 please report to the headmaster's office immediately. I repeat: student number 8079918, report to the headmaster's office right away. That is all." The crackling died out.

Rosalind paused. "That's me."

Leira's eyebrows shot up. "I wonder what they want."

"I don't know." Rosalind looked troubled. She hadn't done anything to get called there.

Saying goodbye to Leira, Rosalind made her way to the office. She opened the door, telling the secretary what she was there for. The secretary, a middle aged woman with greying hair nodded at her and told her to take a seat. "The headmaster will be with you in just a moment."

Nodding, Rosalind placed her books on a seat beside her before sitting down herself, tucking her skirt neatly beneath her. When the headmaster came out, Rosalind jumped up, saluting smartly, if a little nervously.

"At ease, cadet."

"Yes sir."

"Come in. I won't keep you long. It looks as if you're quite busy yourself," the headmaster said, nodding to Rosalind's pile of books.

"Yes sir," Rosalind said again, scooping up her books before following him inside.

"Be seated."

Rosalind took a seat, laying the books on her lap.

"You must be wondering why I called you here."

"Yes sir."

The headmaster laughed. "Please, Miss Kraymer, there's no need to be so formal. Speak to me as you would normally speak."

Rosalind nodded. The headmaster was a strange man. He'd been a Shin-Ra Major General in the army before taking his current posting. He had distinguished himself in any number of conflicts, and yet he had chosen to come here. The more she thought about it, the stranger it was. Headmaster Saiin didn't look very much like her vision of a military genius. He was always smiling and joking and announcing the most random things over the school intercom, such as poetry he thought particularly inspiring or anecdotes. When it came right down to it, Rosalind thought he was weird and difficult to understand.

Nevertheless, he was the headmaster, and Rosalind was obliged to give him her respect. She nodded. "I'll try, sir."

He sighed, but let the matter drop. "I wanted you to know that you currently stand as valedictorian for your year."

Rosalind felt a flush of pride at his remark. She had worked hard all through her time at the school, and it was gratifying hearing that her teachers had thought the same. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me. This is purely the result of your own effort."

She nodded, then frowned. Something wasn't right. Surely the headmaster hadn't called her here just to tell her that.

"But I didn't call you here just to tell you that."

That much she could have guessed.

"Your instructors – and I – would also like to recommend you for a job immediately upon graduation. As a matter of fact, we've already spoken to the people at Shin-Ra headquarters, but we'd like to get your opinion before anything's finalized."

She stiffened. "Pardon, sir?"

"Tell me, cadet, how much do you know about the Shin-Ra Company's Turks?"

Her eyes widened. The Turks? Her father had mentioned them a couple of times, and she had read a couple things here and there about them, but as it stood, not much was known about them for sure.

"I hear they do a lot of classified work for the Shin-Ra Company," Rosalind began hesitantly. "And it's also said that they…"

"Yes?" Headmaster Saiin leaned forward.

"They… sometimes have to do things that the company wants hidden." It was vague, but Rosalind didn't feel comfortable mentioning this to the headmaster, no matter how much he may or may not know already.

The headmaster grunted. "Well, you seem to know more than the average person." For some reason, this seemed to displease him. Rosalind blinked up at him, unsure.

"Well, upon graduation, there's an offer outstanding if you're willing to take it for employment with the Turks."

It took several moments for his words to sink in. Then she started, her body snapping straight up in her seat. "Sir?"

"It's up to you, of course, but we believe you would make a fine candidate."

She tried to open her mouth to say something, but found she couldn't do more than gape at the headmaster.

"Of course you still have time to decide – there are a few weeks left before graduation." Saiin didn't seem bothered by Rosalind's inability to speak.

"Why me, sir?" Her voice was low, and the headmaster had to lean forward to catch her words.

Saiin leaned back. "Do you want me to be honest, Miss Kraymer?"

Rosalind nodded.

"You'd make a fine soldier. You take orders well, and you carry them out just as well, but we believe that the army isn't the place for you."

At this, Rosalind frowned. If she would make a good soldier, why wouldn't it be a good place for her?

"The Turks will give you room to grow and become your own person. It's not as easy to accomplish that in the military, especially not for someone like you."

What did he mean by that? The headmaster didn't offer any further explanation, save to stand up and gesture to Rosalind to do the same. Hurriedly, she scrambled up, almost forgetting about the books on her lap. Fumbling with them, she stood at attention.

"Think about what I've said. If you're interested, let me know. We'll take care of all the arrangements."

That night, she went over the proposal with her family. To her surprise, her father was quick to agree with the headmaster.

"He's right. You would be a good soldier, but you'd be better off doing something else."

Rosalind couldn't help but feel a little hurt at this. "Are you saying that I'm not good enough?"

"I didn't say that." Mr. Kraymer eyed his daughter speculatively. "I think your talents will serve you well in either field, but there's more to life than just the army. Come to that, there's more to life than the Turks, too. You have to decide what you want to do for yourself."

"…what do you think I should do?"

"If I told you, you would do just that." Mr. Kraymer shook his head. "You decide, Rosalind." It was clear he wasn't going to say anything more on the subject.

In the end, Rosalind did take up the offer. Both Saiin and her father had said it was her choice; in truth, she didn't know that this was the best decision she could have made, but they were right in saying that it would probably be better than a life in the army. She didn't know what it is the Turks could help her find that the military couldn't, but she swore that she would work hard at it until it became clear.

And even if she by chance couldn't find what the others could see, at least she was heading somewhere, and that was something.


	4. The Beginning: Rafe

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own Before Crisis or anything of the Compilation. The only things I do own are the names for characters that didn't already have them.

_Author's Notes:_ The last chapter before we get into actual plot. This chapter's on (Twin Guns) whom I have named Rafe. On with the show!

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Beginning (Rafe)**

They met in an out of the way bar above the plate. It had been easy enough arranging leave with the Don, and certainly easy enough to arrange an excuse since nobody bothered to ask what business he could possibly have up here.

Rafe coolly eyed the agent sitting beside him. The other man was wearing the dark suit that identified him as a Turk. His expression was neutral, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses which he wore even indoors. He called himself Rude. Rafe wondered where he had gotten a name like that.

"…you've decided?" Rude rumbled. He didn't speak any more than was necessary to get his point across, which was fine with Rafe.

"Yeah." Rafe lit up a cigarette. "Just so we're clear, I get a 35 pay increase and you'll keep the Don and the underground cartels off my back, right?"

Rude nodded.

Blowing a stream of smoke out, Rafe tapped the cigarette, letting the ashes fall into the tray. "When do I start?"

The taller man shrugged. "Anytime you want."

If it was going to happen, it was going to happen soon. It would only be a matter of time before all these trips to the upper world got someone's curiosity piqued, and anyway, Rafe was more than ready to move on. Guarding the Don had given him experience, money and a certain cache in Wall Market, but the backbiting had got to the point where enough was enough. He had taken to carrying his guns even to bed. A man just couldn't tell anymore whether he'd live to the next morning of whether he'd be disposed of in a scrap heap, slit from ear to ear.

"I'll call you again," Rafe said at last. "I've got some things I need to take care of down there."

Rude nodded. They adjourned their meeting with the ordering of another round of beers.

Rafe moved quickly. He'd already been preparing to leave since he had first been scouted by the Turks. There was never a question of him refusing the offer – only a matter of timing and condition.

That night after he finished his work, he waited until the first trains to Midgar's upper plates started running. Grabbing his duffel bag and making sure his guns were fully loaded, he waited.

The denizens of Don Corneo's underworld went to sleep early in the morning. The Don was by his nature and due to his business most active around night, and so consequently was his retinue of bodyguards. Rafe knew the schedule; he waited until he was sure everyone had settled before making his way out of the palatial grounds.

He was almost out of the precinct when he was caught. Turning around, Rafe faced the belligerently suspicious voice behind him.

He almost sighed. Kotch. The man had had it in for him ever since he'd been upbraided by the Don for a minor skirmish of which Rafe had been a part. He'd gotten off free, Kotch hadn't.

"Where're you going?" Kotch was looking at him through narrowed eyes, his hands not quite on, but close enough to his own firearm.

"I've got business in the market," Rafe answered.

Kotch eyed the duffel, his expression clearly saying that he didn't buy it. "This early? Right after your shift?"

"That's right. I made a specific time with a buyer, not that it's any of your business."

The other man spat in his direction. "The hell you are. Let's see the bag."

Rafe raised his eyebrows. The guy was asking for trouble.

Kotch stepped forward, one hand out to take the bag from Rafe, the other drawing his weapon. Before he could complete the motion, Rafe had drawn his own weapon.

"Don't try anything."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me." Rafe adjusted the bag over his shoulder, nonchalantly clicking the safety off his gun. "Besides, whose word do you think is going to stand up when the Don hears about this? Yours or mine?"

"You gonna tattle? Like some brat?"

"You're assuming a lot," Rafe replied. He raised the gun. "Just back down, Kotch."

The man appeared to give this some thought. Suddenly, he whipped out his gun. Not fast enough. Rafe quickly fired off a round, glad that he had had the foresight to equip a silencer earlier. Kotch dropped to his knees, clutching his arm.

Rafe held his gun on Kotch. "This time it was your arm. The next one will go through your head."

Kotch hissed in pain, his eyes narrowed. He didn't say anything. Carefully, Rafe bent down to retrieve the gun that had slipped out of Kotch's grasp when his arm had been compromised.

"Stay there a while. If you try to attack me, I'll kill you."

The two men stared each down. Finally, Rafe turned away.

"I'll get you for this," he hissed. Rafe shrugged. That was far from likely. Where he was going, Kotch couldn't follow.

Rafe never saw Kotch again. What became of him, he didn't know, nor did he particularly care. The dimly shaded world of the Wall Market slums was behind him. The Turks had ensured that that was the way things would be. And that was something that the gunman remembered every day he woke with his neck intact.

* * *

_Afterword:_ As I said in the author's notes, this is the last chapter before going into the main story. I'll be starting (naturally) from Episode 1. The way things will work, I'll have each episode running primarily from one character's point of view, with the other characters acting as secondary throughout. The other BC Turks will be introduced around the time they're supposed to come in for their respective chapters – I haven't forgotten them. :)

I'm excited! Now that the background stuff's out of the way, let's get this show on the road! See you next chapter.


	5. The Sector 8 Disturbance: Rosalind

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ The characters, places and other indicia of Final Fantasy VII are property of Square-Enix. I don't own the characters – I'm just borrowing them for my own perverse ends. 8D

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**Chapter 5: The Sector 8 Disturbance (Rosalind)**

The first assignment as a Turk that Rosalind carried out took place in Midgar's Sector 8. It was the newest sector, and as a result, was the beneficiary of the newest building methods, the newest architecture and a large concentration of high end shops. It was generally seen as the best sector in which to live and do business, and consequently one of the easiest ones to patrol.

It was partly for this reason that the majority of first time Turks stationed in Midgar were given this assignment. The other reason, as Tseng had pointed out, was ritual. "Your seniors Rude and Reno, and even I started off with this work," Tseng continued, telling her to treat the patrol as she would any other mission. His voice came clearly through her phone, as if he was standing beside her. Rosalind nodded, then realizing that Tseng couldn't possibly see her, acknowledged his suggestion with a crisp "Yes sir".

Tseng gave her some more advice, mostly things that she had learned while in military school, but she didn't tell him this; he was only trying to be helpful, she reasoned. Besides, he must have run through this with all the other new Turk recruits, so it was quite possible that he said this automatically. When she finally got off the phone, she took a look around.

The streetlights illuminated the immaculately kept streets. The further out from headquarters one headed, the less well-preserved things became. The same ran for even Sector 8. As it was, where she was right now, there wasn't even a stray leaf on the ground. Putting away her mobile phone, she decided to make a systematic round of the streets, starting from the inner areas to the peripheries of the sector. Glancing at a reflection of herself in a shop window glass, Rosalind nodded to herself. Everything was good. She was ready to go.

Just as she was turning into a side alley that would work its way to the industrial complex that housed the reactors, Rosalind stopped. There were hushed voices coming from just around the corner. She didn't know why she stopped to listen: the area in question wasn't restricted to the public for another few kilometres yet, but the tone of the voices gave her pause.

"The downfall of the Shin-Ra's finally in sight," a male voice breathed harshly. "Don't go messing things up now. Down with the Shin-Ra!"

Down with the Shin-Ra…? That didn't sound good. Instinctively, Rosalind reached for her gun. Her hand brushed against the cool metal when a loud chirruping sound sliced through the air, startling her. She grimaced, berating herself for the slip up. Her PHS - She should have put it in silent mode!

The sound had got the attention of the men around the corner too. "Who's there?!"

Pulling out her gun, Rosalind wondered briefly if she ought not to answer the phone first – then, realizing the ridiculousness of the thought she rounded the corner, weapon at the ready.

The men – two of them – in front of her were dressed in drab brown uniforms. Their faces were hidden by visors, their heads covered with hoods. This was no ordinary group of miscreants; that much she could identify at a glance. One of them, obviously the leader of the pair, stepped forward.

"That uniform… The Shin-Ra Company's Turks?!"

There was another ridiculous second in which Rosalind quickly looked down at her suit. It was a nondescript black one, without distinguishing features. How could he possibly tell who she was?

The second of the men whimpered, his comrade's pronouncement obviously something he hadn't wanted to hear. He was unarmed and trembling pretty badly. The first man didn't seem to have the same problem. Already he was drawing a length of pipe from behind him advancing on Rosalind.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Rosalind demanded, raising her gun. She hadn't even had a chance to find out who these people were. They were advancing on her. They had anti-Shin-Ra sentiments. Clearly something bigger was going on, but it looked as if she wouldn't find out unless she took care of this first. Her phone was still ringing. Irritably, she flipped it open, dodging a swipe from the first man. Taking aim with her gun, she fired off a shot. The bullet ricocheted off her attacker's weapon. Damn.

"Rosalind?!" Tseng's voice came sharply down the line, edged with... was it panic? "Why are you engaging?"

"I've encountered hostile elements in Sector 8, sir. They're –" She rolled when the second man lunged at her. Somehow she managed to keep a hold on her phone and her weapon. Scrambling back again, she held her gun out to keep them from getting closer. The one that had been shaking at being confronted by a Turk was hanging back, clearly still unsettled, and the leader, though advancing forward warily was still a fair distance back. Good.

"-fighting me as we speak," Rosalind finished. "Sir, I'll call you back." Flipping the PHS closed, she tucked it away before turning her attention to her attackers. Firing off a shot, she hit the younger man. He stumbled back, clutching his chest before falling. The leader lunged at her, screaming something about his fallen comrade. Without hesitation Rosalind shot him cleanly through the throat. With a gurgle, he collapsed, blood spattering onto the ground. Rosalind bent over, catching her breath. What had that been about?

The PHS rang again. "Give me a report," Tseng said. "What happened?"

"I was attacked by two men," Rosalind replied. "They seemed to be up to something. They said something like, 'Down with the Shin-Ra'."

"'Down with the Shin-Ra'…?" Tseng repeated.

"Yes sir. It was just two men but they seemed organized." She looked down at the fallen leader. Bending down, she searched his pockets, cocking her head so that her PHS rested in the crook between her neck and shoulder.

"Who could they be…?" Tseng mused aloud. "We need to know more. Go see if there are any more of those men around."

"Understood." Rosalind hung up, standing up at the same time. The man hadn't been carrying anything that could identify him. After doing a brief search of the second man, she carried on down the road to the reactor.

_To be continued… _

_

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_

_Author's Notes: _First off, thanks to people that have been reviewing. It's encouraging to get some sort of feedback on this project, especially as I'm still struggling to find that balance between just narrating the events of the game and adding depth to it. Second, I've started with Rosalind. Not so much because she's my favourite or anything, but because I flipped a coin to see which POV I should start from first. I'm dead serious. xD

Anyway, give me feedback. Let me know if throughout the story I'm starting to go far too into narrative (just repeating events as they happen in the game "...and then, and then…") or straying too far from the point. The problem with not having a beta reader is that I don't have that constant second voice steering me right.


	6. A Troubling Report: Tseng

**Chapter 6: A Troubling Report (Tseng)**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer: _I don't own nothin'. Square-Enix does, yo.

* * *

After receiving Rosalind's report, Tseng strode quickly across the office. To say that he hadn't been expecting something like this would have been a gross understatement. Sector 8 was supposed to be peaceful. The Shin-Ra weren't involved in any conflicts with anybody, and the clash with Wutai had settled down a long time ago – this most likely wasn't a matter of nationalistic islanders taking revenge.

The other Turks had all finished the sector patrol mission without a problem. Tseng grimaced. He hadn't wanted the newer Turks involved in anything like this for a while yet.

Knocking on Veld's door, he entered without waiting for a reply.

Veld, the commander-in-chief of the Turks, looked up from his paperwork. "What is it Tseng?" The older man knew it must be pretty serious. Tseng rarely ever got agitated, and he looked pretty hot under the collar just now.

"There seems to be a disturbance in Sector 8," Tseng said tersely. "There have been reports of men planning an attack on the company."

At this, Veld's head snapped up. "Are they working alone or in a group? How are they planning to attack?"

"I've got one of our newer recruits, Rosalind, looking into the situation."

Veld frowned. He didn't like the idea of a new recruit facing something that sounded this serious. "Keep me apprised of the situation and see if you can get someone else in there to act as support."

Tseng nodded, already taking out his PHS. Tapping a few keys, he glanced at his superior. "Reno's in the next sector. He's the closest to Rosalind." Hitting another button, he held the phone to his ear.

"Reno, this is Tseng. Get over to the junction road by the Sector 8 reactor. I'll send you the coordinates in a moment. One of our trainees is in trouble." He hung up and looked at Veld again.

"Good work," Veld said. "We'll have to wait for them to get us more information before we can do anything."

Tseng looked troubled. "Rosalind said the group seems pretty organized. I hope they don't have too much trouble."

_To be continued… _

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_Author's Notes:_ A short one this time. We'll get back to your regularly scheduled mission from Rosalind's POV in the next chapter. ;)


	7. The Bombing Mission: Rosalind

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer: _I don't own anything of the Final Fantasy VII compilation – not characters, places, concepts or any indicia. Nor am I making any money off of the story. It's all in good fun, folks. :)

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Bombing Mission (Rosalind)**

Rosalind ran through the streets, searching for her quarry. She hadn't seen any more of the brown-garbed men since her first and only skirmish with the two operatives earlier. She was almost at the reactor when her PHS rang again. Skidding to a halt, she grabbed the device in her pocket, nearly dropping it in her haste.

It was Tseng. "I want you to get information out of anybody you capture. What are you using now?"

Rosalind blinked quickly. "Standard 9 millimetre rounds. I've also got a few rubber tipped bullets and Sleepel rounds, though."

"Use the Sleepel rounds. How many of those have you got?"

"A standard cilp's worth. Should I be using those then?"

"Yes. Keep me informed if you find out anything else."

"Yes sir."

Hanging up, she quickly replaced cartridges, feeling strangely reassured by the click as the cartridge locked into place. Hefting the handgun to get a feel for its adjusted weight, she nodded to herself before starting down the street again.

She hadn't gone more than 300 yards when she heard voices from around the corner. She stopped, leaning against the wall, weapon at the ready.

"…we'll secure this route. Don't let anybody through."

There were sounds of affirmatives, then footsteps running down the street. Licking her lips, she peered around the corner. Nobody there. They must have gone on ahead. At the next corner, she did the same thing and saw one of the brown-suited men. Whipping around, she fired a round, bringing him down.

The sound of boot steps behind Rosalind got her attention. Spinning around, she came face to face with two hostiles.

"There's no getting away now!" one of them shouted. The man lunged, throwing a punch. Rosalind ducked, throwing her arm straight out, catching him in the midsection. There was a whoosh of air and the operative fell to the ground, wheezing. The second one was moving slowly, eyeing Rosalind through his visor. Rosalind's eyes narrowed.

"What are you after? Why are you doing this?"

The man didn't answer. Instead he ran at her, throwing a punch. Rosalind ducked again, then reeled as something connected with her head. Scrambling back, she glared. He had feinted. Raising her gun, she tried to line up a shot but unexpectedly he leapt, tackling her. With a shriek she went down, her head hitting the pavement hard. Spots swam before her eyes.

Suddenly there was a heavy pressure on her throat. Rosalind's breath hitched as more shapes exploded behind her eyes. She was being strangled! She reached up, trying to pry her assailant's fingers off of her but he only laughed and pressed down harder. Her eyes widened. She wanted to cough but couldn't muster enough air through her blocked passages to do it. She felt as if she were drowning. She was going to die!

With a hoarse yell that grated against her throat, she gathered as much strength as she could and whipped out her hand at her assailant's face. There was a great howl, and suddenly his hand was off of her. All at once, stinging air filled her lungs and Rosalind coughed, struggling to stand up.

Her attacker was on the ground, clutching his face. He let his hand fall away from his face, and Rosalind grimaced. His eye was bleeding profusely. She couldn't tell because the eye was shut and covered in blood, but she was pretty sure she had damaged his sight.

"You little bitch!" he snarled.

Without thinking, Rosalind dove forward, avoiding the man's second lunge. Rolling, she reached for her weapon just as the man grabbed her ankle. With a grunt, she bent her body forward just as he was trying to haul her up. Taking as best an aim she could, she fired. With a great bellow, the man let go, staggering back. Rosalind fired again. Finally, his good eye rolled up into his head, and he collapsed on top of her legs.

Breathing hard, Rosalind shuddered. That had been too close. Crawling over to the operatives, she checked their pulses. They were both fast asleep. With a shaking, shuddering breath, she got unsteadily to her feet. Tears stung her eyes. She wiped them away angrily. Spinning on her heel, she continued on toward the reactor.

Another pair of operatives were just up ahead. Rosalind didn't even bother with stealth this time. The last encounter had left her feeling angry. Who the hell were these people and what kind of sick game were they trying to pull? If she were Reno or St. Andrew, she would have described her feelings at that moment as "pretty fucking mad".

The operatives spun around. "We're not letting you get away with this, Shin-Ra traitor!" one of them shouted. "Don't think you're getting out alive!"

Stony faced, Rosalind raised her weapon – just as the PHS rang. If thoughts could kill, the phone would have melted in her pocket right about now.

"What's your situation?"

Tseng. Couldn't he call until she'd finished? Pushing aside the urge to shout at him, she reported her situation.

"If you've got a number of opponents to fight at the same time, use magic. It'll make things easier for you." How he could sound calm was beyond her. "You do know how to use magic, right?"

"Yes I do." She didn't bother to tell him that this too was something she had already gotten accustomed to at the academy.

The edge in her voice must have been evident, because Tseng sounded sympathetic when he spoke next. "I know this is a tough situation to be in, but hang in there."

Pocketing her PHS Rosalind took out the first operative, then without batting an eye, took out the other with a second quick tap. Still feeling somewhat angry from the strangling she'd been subjected to earlier, she hauled one of the operatives up by the collar. "What are your motives? What are you trying to do here?"

The Sleepel bullet was just starting to take effect. The eyes of the operative were drooping shut. "As if we'd tell someone from Shin-Ra…"

Frustrated, she dropped him, ignoring the thunk he made as he unceremoniously made contact with the ground. Checking her clip, she grimaced. She was running out of Sleepel bullets. She would have to be more careful or else she'd be back to standard rounds. Ignoring the vicious part of her that gleefully suggested using the normal bullets – all she'd have to do was wound them… so long as they didn't die it didn't matter – she ran for the reactor.

There were other operatives lining the road to the reactor, but she ignored them, running and dodging them. She had to get to the reactor.

At the end of the street there was another operative blocking the way to the open space that would lead to the reactor. "You're not getting past me!" the brown suited operative shouted belligerently. Without stopping Rosalind raised her hand. "Lightning!" she yelled. A bolt shot down and struck the operative, who fell to the ground, twitching.

Grabbing him by the collar, she asked him who he was, but he was just as recalcitrant as the rest of his comrades and wouldn't answer. Frustrated, Rosalind knocked him out and moved on.

Sprinting, she headed once more in the direction of the reactor. She was almost there…

The PHS rang. Again. Picking up, she heard Tseng's voice. He sounded terse, verging on frantic. "The doors to the reactor's underground entrance have been blasted open."

Rosalind's eyes widened. No…

"It's my fault. I'm sorry." She hadn't been fast enough to stop them. If she hadn't wasted all that time with operatives that didn't matter, she might have gotten here sooner.

"Don't worry about that right now," Tseng said. "Now listen to me. The intruders are aiming for the reactor itself. Stop them from reaching it."

"Roger." She wouldn't fail this time.

Running out in front of the operatives standing guard in front of the reactor, she made quick work of them. Attracted by the ruckus, three more of them boiled out of a side street. Quickly forming the targets in her mind, she screamed out the lightning spell, satisfied as three bolts found their mark. Her satisfaction was short lived, because at that moment even more of the operatives came rushing in, surrounding her. Doing a quick head count, she realized that she now had a dozen of them against her. This wasn't good.

So be it. Rosalind closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. If she was going to die, she was going to die fighting. She raised her gun. "Come on then," she said lowly.

There was shouting coming off to the right. Just then two of the men fell. A tall, thin man with a shock of long red hair stood in their place. Her eyes widened. Reno?

He grinned at her. "Hey rookie! Looks like you've gotten yourself into a hell of a mess on your first day, huh?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Trying again, she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. "I thought you had other orders…?"

He shrugged, casually kicking aside one of the fallen men. The other operatives watched him, shocked into stillness. Coming to join her, Reno gave the remaining men an appraising look. Immediately, two more operatives filled the spot Reno had just vacated. He seemed amused at that.

"I've been called in to be your support," he said casually, as if they were talking about a Sunday walk in the park, not a life and death situation. At her stricken look, he laughed. "Don't worry about it." He clapped her on the shoulder. Then, turning away so his back was to her, he tapped his EMR against his shoulder. "All right, rookie – let's finish this up as quick as possible!"

The good thing about having Reno on your side was he was fast. He'd taken down about three of the men before she'd even gotten one down. The bad thing about having Reno on your side was you didn't get much of a chance to do anything for yourself. Spinning around almost casually, he knocked one man down before ducking and taking a swipe at another. In the end, Rosalind only had to deal with two of the operatives. When all was said and done, he winked at her. "Mission complete."

Or not. Three more men came rushing onto the scene with cries of defiance, fists flailing.

"They just keep coming," Reno said, the exasperation creeping into his voice.

"At this rate, they'll get to the reactor," Rosalind muttered tightly. "That's what they want."

"Seems like it." Reno tossed her a look. "Okay then, rookie. You go on ahead. I'll take care of these guys."

Rosalind blinked at him. It wasn't that she doubted that Reno could deal with their opponents, but… She nodded. "Yes sir. Be careful."

She ran into the reactor.

_To be continued… _


	8. The AVALANCHE Leader: Rosalind

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own 'em. More's the pity…? XDDD

_Dedication:_ To hikarisan, who hates novelisations, but is reading this anyway. I would also like to dedicate this particular chapter to a close friend of many years, who has just proposed to his sweetheart – and she accepted! Congratulations!

* * *

**Chapter 8: The AVALANCHE Leader (Rosalind)**

The air of the reactor was warm, almost uncomfortably so after the chill of the night air outside. Rosalind stopped, looking around. The lights gave the entire room an eerie reddish hue. The huge pipes snaking along the walls and along the ceiling reminded Rosalind of blood vessels. The interior was strangely rounded, as if the whole interior was organic. Strangely, Rosalind was reminded of the inside of a womb.

Her PHS rang and Rosalind picked up, still somewhat off kilter from the interior of the reactor.

"They're after the reactor," Tseng said without preamble. "They're going to try to breach the main passage by blasting through them. Stop them!"

"Yes sir." She shook off her daze and looked around. There were doors and passages heading off in all directions, but if she remembered the schematics correctly, the heart of the reactor should be north from the entrance. She set off.

It wasn't long before she found her target. At the sound of her footsteps, two operatives turned around. "Down with the Shin-Ra!" they shouted. Rosalind, who had switched back to regular bullets earlier, aimed for the side of one man and struck the other one in both legs, incapacitating them.

Turning along the twisted passages, she could hear shouting now. The gunshots had no doubt been heard. She made her way closer to the reactor, dispatching the enemy with clean shots. It felt like she was performing the actions from somewhere outside of herself. The only thing she could think about now was getting to the reactor – anything and anyone else that stood in her way was inconsequential.

Finally, she was in front of the reactor. Making quick work of the enemy guard, she stepped in front of the man setting up the explosive charges. Resolutely, she trained her gun on him. The operative stood up, brandishing a short sword. He snarled. "We're so close! You're not going to stop me now!" She could hear the desperation in his voice. Without so much as a twitch she pulled the trigger. The man dropped dead, blood pouring thinly from the wound in his forehead.

Taking out her PHS, she gave Tseng her update.

"Good work. Come back to headquarters with Reno as soon as possible," he said. "We'll do the complete debriefing once you're back."

Rosalind hung up. Come to think of it, Reno hadn't shown up. She bit her lip. She hoped nothing had happened to him…

* * *

Just outside the reactor, Rosalind watched in horror as Reno was dealt a heavy handed blow by a burly looking man in a pale khaki uniform and a bandana. She gasped. What was going on? Who was this guy?

Reno looked up. His eyes widened when he spotted Rosalind. "Get out of here, rookie! This guy's trouble!" His eyes rolled up into his head as the burly man punched him again, a blow that knocked the redheaded Turk's head hard against the ground. "Reno!" Rosalind shouted, horrified.

The man looked down at Reno with undisguised contempt. Prodding him with the tip of his boot, he snorted. "He was all talk." His gaze fell on Rosalind, and he raised his fists. "You're next."

With a yelp, Rosalind dodged the punch he threw at her. She heard something crack in the vicinity of where she'd been standing. Rolling onto one knee, she fired a shot but missed. The man laughed. He lunged, and Rosalind was barely able to dodge the next hit. Getting up, Rosalind backed off so there was some space between her and the big guy. She threw up a hand. "Comet!" she yelled.

A series of burning meteorites rained down around them, hitting her opponent, who grunted from the impact. Before he could move, she lined up a shot, hissing in annoyance when it merely grazed him. She threw up her hand again. "Lightning!"

The man, singed as he was, didn't seem in the least affected by her attacks. He laughed, clearly enjoying her look of bewilderment. "So you can fight a little. Playtime's over, though." His jaw tightened. "I'll make you regret having anything to do with the Shin-Ra!"

He rushed her. This time Rosalind couldn't get out of the way, and she found herself getting thrown into the air from the force of the impact as his body slammed into hers. She hit the wall behind with a hard thud. Something in her back twinged, and with a gasp, she slumped forward, unable to move. Who the hell was this guy? He was way too strong if he could immobilize her with one hit like that, much less take out Reno with about as much apparent effort as swatting an insect.

The man reared back again; it looked like he was preparing to deliver the final blow, and Rosalind squeezed her eyes shut. It couldn't end like this. She willed herself to move.

"Mr. Shears, sir!"

Rosalind's eyes snapped open. From her vantage point on the ground, she could see another one of those brown-garbed men saluting the big man. "Fuhito is saying that we're all to gather at Junon."

The big man – Shears – seemed disappointed at this missed opportunity to finish her off. A shudder went down her aching spine. She recognized that look in his eyes. He _wanted_ to kill her – he would have _enjoyed _killing her. What had she done to deserve that kind of hatred? She didn't even know him.

"Take care of these Turks here," Shears ordered. "They're just about finished anyway."

The lackey saluted, watching his leader leave. He pulled out a hunting knife, moving forward hesitantly. He looked at the two of them, then, seemingly deciding that the unconscious Reno would be the easier job, approached him.

Anger boiled up in Rosalind's veins. She didn't know who these people were – what they were trying to accomplish – but they had gone too far. They had tried to blow up the reactor. If they had succeeded, they would have taken out a good portion of the city, all thousands of innocent citizens. They had caused unrest, had tried to kill her, and now on top of everything else they were going to kill an unconscious man.

"This can't happen," Rosalind muttered, pulling herself up, ignoring the pain shooting down her back. Raising her voice to get the attention of the operative, she stood up, adjusting her grip on her weapon. "I'm not going to let you get away with this!"

The fight, if one could call it that, lasted all of two seconds. Before he could even react, the operative toppled over on top of Reno. Grimly, Rosalind approached them, moving the operative off of Reno.

"Sir?" She shook him. He was probably just unconscious. She could still feel his pulse, after all. She shook him harder when he didn't respond. "Reno, get up!"

With a groan, he came to. Blinking, he smirked up at her. "You saved me, huh…"

"I guess I did." She waited for Reno to pull himself up. Her gaze fell on the fallen operative. "Who were those guys?"

_To be continued…_

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_Author's Notes:_ Another comparatively short chapter. Actually, this chapter is an amalgamation of two chapters – you'll notice the line break partway through this chapter, yes? It didn't make sense to split those two scenes apart, since the continuity between one and the other was there, and to break them apart would have been unnatural. So, I merged them. :3 I'm not sure what was I thinking when I broke them apart in the first place. o.O;;; I guess that's what you get when you write in a semi-conscious sort of way.


	9. To Junon: Rosalind

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ Of course I don't own Before Crisis or the FFVII Compilation, silly-billy. :D Square-Enix does.

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**Chapter 9: To Junon (Rosalind)**

With the wounds Rosalind and Reno had received in battle having been taken care of, the two of them had started the trek back to Shin-Ra headquarters. Reno was muttering something about wanting a drink to get rid of his headache, every now and then trying to cajole Rosalind into joining him. She ignored this, insisting firmly that they had to report back to headquarters. The redhead sighed.

"You're no fun, you know that rookie?"

The streets were eerily quiet after everything they had been through. Rosalind found this chilling. It had only been less than half an hour ago that she'd been in an intense life or death situation. The denizens of Sector 8 had no idea how close they had come to calamity.

A PHS went off then with a shrill chirruping sound. Rosalind started.

"Yeah," Reno said. They stopped walking.

"The President's?! Gotcha, we'll leave right away." He hung up.

"What was that about the President?" She was getting a bad feeling about this.

Reno grimaced. The sinking feeling in Rosalind's stomach got worse. "Is the President being targeted?" It was the worst possible scenario she could think of, and after tonight, it was wholly in the realm of possibility.

"Yeah. We've got to haul ass to Junon – and I mean _right now_."

Within the next hour they were on a chopper heading straight for Junon. Rosalind sat in the co-pilot's seat beside Reno, trying to get some sleep. She'd been on active duty since early yesterday morning, and judging by the state of things, she probably wouldn't get to rest any time soon.

Opening her eyes, Rosalind gave up. She was too wound up just now.

Reno wasn't saying much either. Normally he would be the one winding Rosalind up, cracking jokes or else trying to flirt with her, but now he was all business.

_"Sir, who were those people?"_

_"They call themselves AVALANCHE," Veld responded, his face grim. "They're an anti-Shin-Ra group, very well organized. It seems as if they've begun to stage an operation in Junon. Our intelligence reports that they will likely target President Shinra on his press jaunt there."_

_They were all gathered in the small conference room where they had their daily meetings and reports. The other new recruits and Rude had been called in as well. _

_Samantha, the other female recruit crossed her arms. "Why are they targeting Shin-Ra in the first place? It doesn't make any sense."_

_"That remains to be seen," Tseng answered. "In the meantime, a large number of these AVALANCHE members have gathered in Junon."_

_Rafe raised his head. "Isn't that where -?"_

_Veld nodded. "The President is due to carry out a press junket there. Reno, Rosalind, since you've both had direct contact with the hostile elements, you will leave immediately after this meeting for Junon. Continue to send in periodic reports. Your first job is to protect the President at all costs."_

_"What about the rest of us?" St. Andrew asked, leaning back in his seat. _

_"I'll be sending you out to gather information," Veld replied. _

_They looked at each other. None of them had expected something like this to happen. _

Rosalind shook her head. Well, she had wanted to do something different, and she was doing it. She could say with an almost absolute certainty that she wouldn't have come across this kind of a situation had she elected to join the army.

"We're in sight of the city now," Reno announced. He flicked a glance at her. "You ever been to Junon?"

"Once," Rosalind replied. "My father was stationed here for a couple of years, and the family went to visit him."

The city of Junon was located to the southwest of Midgar across the Junon Bay. It was the second largest city in the world, another construct of the Shin-Ra Company. It had come into its present form only at the time of the conflict with Wutai, and had been designed as a modern day fortress. Everything about the city was designed with defence in mind, and it was evident in the design of the city.

"I should warn you," Reno said at last, "the President's a difficult old bastard to deal with."

Rosalind gasped. "Reno!"

He laughed. "It's true, kiddo. You'll see when you meet him. He's grumpy, hard to please and –" He sent her another sidelong glance. "He has a thing for pretty young ladies. Try not to let him push you around or treat you like some ornament."

She straightened up in her seat. "I'll be fine."

"Yeah, well, we'll see."

Reno led the way along the upper streets of the city, whistling tunelessly. They came to a stop in front of a four story building indistinguishable from its neighbours but for a revolving door and a discreet metal plaque that read 'The Excalibur' – and the presence of soldiers on either side of the entrance.

One of the blue uniformed men saluted. "Sir! The President is waiting for you."

Reno nodded, taking out his PHS. "Yeah, I bet he is," he muttered. Punching in a number, he reported to Veld that they'd reached their contact point.

Inside the hotel, more guards were stationed strategically in the reception area, up the stairs and down the corridors. Rosalind wondered just how the hotel guests were supposed to enjoy their stay with the heavy security presence here. She supposed it couldn't be helped – AVALANCHE most likely knew where President Shinra was staying, so it was best to err on the side of caution.

They took the stairs up to the second floor. Reno spoke briefly with one of the guards, who pointed with his rifle to a spot just up ahead. Nodding, Reno turned back to Rosalind.

"The President's in his suite. Come on rookie, let's go."

The guard moved out of the way, allowing Reno and Rosalind to pass. Rosalind leaned forward as they passed the guardsman. "If anything happens, let us know."

He saluted smartly. "Leave it to me, ma'am."

Rosalind smiled briefly before running to catch up with Reno. They came to a set of grand double doors with heavy panelling and tastefully painted frescoes on the walls on either side. In front of the doors two more guards stood at attention. Reno nodded to the guards, who nodded back. Saluting smartly, they opened the doors.

The President's suite was, as Rosalind might have guessed, quite palatial. The crimson carpeting was, if possible, plusher than the carpet outside the suite. Large and obviously expensive portraits hung on the walls; substantially heavy drapes graced the windows. The room they were in now had a heavy desk of polished oak and behind that was a large monitor, which somehow felt incongruous when one took into account the rest of the room's décor.

There was a movement off to the left, and Rosalind got her first look at the President of the Shin-Ra Company.

He was a heavyset man in his middling years, with short blonde hair neatly combed back and a thick moustache that somehow seemed to add to his imposing girth. He wore a suit of a shade slightly lighter than aubergine, which if Rosalind had to admit (if only to herself), was in bad taste. An expensive crimson silk tie and polished dark shoes completed the ensemble. At the moment he was chomping impatiently on a cigar.

"It's about time you got here." His tone was one that Rosalind didn't much care for, and it was only her years of military training that kept her from making a face at him.

"Sorry we're late, sir," Reno said obsequiously, bowing slightly. If it weren't for present company, Rosalind would have laughed. It was hard to imagine Reno being deferential to anybody, even the President of the Shin-Ra Company, but he was doing an admirable job. "We'll be escorting you from here on out," he continued.

The President grunted. His eyes fell on Rosalind. He jabbed his cigar in her direction, ash falling onto the rich carpet at his feet.

"Who's the broad?"

"Er –" Reno glanced quickly at Rosalind, whose eyes had gone flinty. "She's one of our newest recruits, sir. She's the one that uncovered AVALANCHE's movements," he added.

"Hmph." President Shinra didn't seem impressed. "I hope you can hold your own, girl," he growled.

"I assure you sir that I can," Rosalind replied coolly.

"We'll see," he said, turning away dismissively. "Reno, get me a scotch, would you? It's been a long day."

Ignoring the fact that it was not even mid-afternoon, Reno nodded. "Sure thing, boss." He had just turned around when the door to the presidential suite opened with a great bang. Both Reno and Rosalind spun around, drawing their weapons.

A Junon guardsman stumbled in, eyes wide. "AVALANCHE is here –"

There was a whooshing sound, and the guardsman screamed, crumpling to the ground in a smouldering, fiery heap. Rosalind gasped. He'd been burnt alive.

"What was that just now?!" President Shinra demanded, gaping at the blackened corpse sizzling on the floor.

"It's all right, Mr. President," Reno assured him, though he looked a little taken aback himself. We'll protect you. Maybe I should get you that scotch now –"

A tall man in a dirty reddish orange outfit entered the room.

"I've found you, President."

Rosalind placed herself quickly between the President and the intruder. "As if I'd let you!" she shouted. In one swift motion, she'd reached for her weapon and in the next moment, the intruder lay dead, face down on the carpeted ground.

"They've managed to get past the security guards," Reno observed. "They're well organized, aren't they?"

Rosalind shot him an admonishing look. In return, Reno raised an eyebrow, as if to ask her what her problem was.

President Shinra still seemed to be in a state of shock. "What is this?" His voice rose. "What's going on here?"

"AVALANCHE," Reno said. "They've gathered in Junon."

"AVALANCHE?" President Shinra repeated. "You mean those renegades from Midgar?" He seemed to be getting some of his composure back. "How dare they…" The President's face was starting to redden, as if he was working himself into a fine rage. Reno certainly seemed to think so, because he scrambled to prepare the scotch that had nearly been forgotten in the commotion.

Rosalind looked down at the body of the intruder. That had been too close. What had happened to the security in the hotel? There had, after all, been quite a lot of them. How could they have gotten through that easily?

A beeping noise interrupted her train of thought. The monitor she had noticed earlier switched on and she found herself looking at Veld's face.

"Sir, are you all right?" His voice came in loud and clear without the slightest static crackle. It sounded like he was right in the room with them. For a split second, Rosalind wished that was true. She pushed the thought aside. What good would that kind of thinking be?

Reno, meanwhile, had handed the President a large tumbler of amber liquid, from which he took a sip. "Oh, it's you Veld. I'm fine." His voice seemed to have lost some of the shakiness it had possessed earlier.

"Sir, I strongly advise you should put off the inspection. If you proceed with your original plans, you'll make it easier for AVALANCHE to carry out their objectives."

President Shinra bristled. "No!" He took a great swig of his scotch, emptying half the glass in one go. "We'll continue with the inspection as planned – we can't let the public think that we can be bullied by a snivelling band of miscreants."

Rosalind stared incredulously. Didn't the man realize how close he'd just come to being snuffed out? The most prudent course of action would be to do what Veld was suggesting and wait until they had settled things in the city. He could go on his press tour anytime.

Veld seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Have a look at this," he said. Veld's image disappeared, replaced by shots of the hotel – he'd switched channels to the security camera feeds. In nearly every pan, there was at least one AVALANCHE operative searching the corridors.

"What the hell is this?!" Reno demanded, sounding incredulous. "The place is crawling with AVALANCHE!"

The video screen switched back to Veld. "This is the reality of the situation. Do you understand now, Mr. President?"

President Shinra stabbed a finger in Veld's direction. "Do something about it, Veld."

There was a pause as the two men stared each other down. Finally, Veld nodded. "Very well. I've sent additional reinforcements to the hotel entrance. Reno, you stay there and guard the President. Rosalind, you'll sweep the hotel and take care of any AVALANCHE members that you find."

"Yes sir. I'll get right on it." She adjusted the handgun in her grip.

"Hurry it up," President Shinra growled. "I'm behind schedule and there are a lot of things I have to get done today."

"Yes sir," Rosalind said automatically, ignoring his tone. He knew as well as she did that he couldn't get on with his important engagements until she had finished her work here. Turning back to Reno, she smiled rather archly. "Good luck, Reno."

Catching her meaning, he laughed. "Yeah, rookie. You too."

The corridors outside the President's suite were empty, if one didn't count the crumpled and charred form of one of the guards that had been watching the entrance to the suite. Stepping over the body, she started out with her weapon at the ready.

Come to think of it, she hadn't seen any other guests in the hotel, and it was far too quiet given the current situation. She took a right at the end of the corridor. Aside from the sounds of her own breathing and the soft pressure of her footsteps on the carpet, she couldn't hear a thing.

At the end of the corridor were two rooms. She heard scuffling noises from behind one of them. Taking a deep breath, she laid a hand on the door knob, readying her gun with the other. Swiftly, she shoved the door open, weapon out in front of her.

She'd caught an AVALANCHE operative by surprise. He fumbled with the jackknife he'd been holding. "A Turk?!" Composing himself, he readjusted his grip on his knife. "Where is the President? If you tell me, I'll spare your life."

Who was he kidding? The way he was cautiously coming around the bed between them, and the way he kept on shifting his grip on the knife told Rosalind clearly as if it had been written on his face that he hadn't the slightest clue what he was doing. Briefly she considered taking pity on him – it was clear this was one of the first fights he'd been involved in. But no – she couldn't leave anything to chance. If she just knocked him out there was a chance he'd escape, and if she tied him up, there was the possibility that he'd get loose. Besides, she'd be wasting time. She squeezed the trigger.

The other room also had an operative skulking inside. She dispatched this one too. Coming back down the corridor, she started climbing the stairs to the next floor. Just when she was a few steps from the top, two AVALANCHE operatives came running from opposite directions. They stopped at the top of the stairs, right in front of and above Rosalind.

"Hey, have you found –" One of the men spotted her. "Hey!"

"Get her!" the other one said, a female voice. "We'll get information about the President from her!"

"Down with the Shin-Ra!" her comrade shouted. They both started down the stairs. Rosalind yelled out a spell. Two bolts of lightning sizzled through the air and struck her opponents. They both fell down at her feet.

She was inspecting one of the rooms when the door burst open. Rosalind had a brief sense of déjà vu – this had been exactly what had happened to that first AVALANCHE she had encountered in her search – only their positions were now reversed. For a split second, they both froze, surprised. The operative recovered quickly, however. Leaping straight across the room, he took out a metal rod. Rosalind dodged. She backed up.

"Where's President Shinra?!" the operative snarled.

"You're not getting anywhere near the President!" she said. She ducked as he took another swipe. Jerking her elbow up, she caught the operative in the chin, then quickly shoved her gun into his chest. He was dead before he'd even registered what had happened.

Well, this had been the last room. She was reasonably sure there were no other operatives left in the building. She sighed. Time to get back. She hoped Reno and the President were holding up all right…

_To be continued… _


	10. Through the Bramble Lined Path: Rosalind

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ All I has here is this concrete slab I likes to call a laptop, see? It dun even power up without being plugged into that there socket – that's how poor I be. Suing me do no good, yeah:DDD

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**Chapter 10: Through the Bramble Lined Path and Into the Breach (Rosalind)**

The sound of Reno's voice carried across the corridor. Rosalind arrived just in time to see President Shinra marching out of his suite, Reno right on his heels.

"I've waited long enough," the President was saying. "We're going."

Reno spotted Rosalind and breathed a sigh of relief. He made a face and rolled his eyes at the President's back. "Oi! Rookie!" he said in an exaggerated tone. "What's your status?"

"I've swept the hotel," Rosalind said, not understanding what Reno was getting at. "We're clear."

Reno made a face at her. Obviously she'd misunderstood something.

"Get ready," President Shinra said brusquely to them. "We're leaving right now."

"Understood." Rosalind took up her position in front of the President, letting Reno take the rear.

Outside the hotel was a fair sized cortege – obviously the men that Veld had sent in response to the President's wishes. The President addressed the soldiers, telling them that he wanted to get to the Junon branch office.

Reno sidled up to her, his face sour. "Thanks a lot, rookie."

"What is it, sir?"

"You don't have to call me – Never mind. I wanted to keep him in the building. If you'd said something about it not being safe just yet, he might've waited."

"Judging by the way he was storming out of there, he wouldn't have waited much longer either way," she replied.

Reno shrugged. "Maybe you're right." He sighed. "All I know is that we'd better be getting double time for this."

They set out. It would take about twenty minutes to get to the branch office assuming nothing untoward happened. At this point, Rosalind wasn't about to hold her breath on a miracle.

Her pessimism turned out to be well justified. No sooner had she finished that thought when a voice shouted at them. "President Shinra!" Frantically, she searched for the source of the voice. An AVALANCHE operative was watching them from out a window. "Remember this!" the operative shouted. He dropped something.

The ground shook, and there was a roaring sound that filled her ears. Rosalind shut her eyes as pieces of debris went flying. She held her arms up to shield her face as hot chunks of debris hit her. When she opened her eyes again, she gasped.

The road had been rent apart. There was a huge crack down the middle of it, with a sizeable gap in the dead centre of where the explosive had made contact with the ground.

She also saw that she had been separated from the others: she was on one side of the newly made divide; President Shinra, Reno and the guards were on the other.

"Sir, are you all right?" she called from across the divide. How in the world had she gotten separated from them like that?

If the President had been disturbed before by the sight of the guardsman catching fire, it was nothing compared with now. Even from this distance she could see him shaking, and he was tugging absently, nervously, on his moustache. He was babbling something that she couldn't quite hear.

"Hey, rookie! I'll take care of the guy up there," Reno yelled, jabbing a finger up at the window. "You make sure the President gets to the branch office safely."

"Understood!" she shouted back.

They negotiated the gap so she and Reno had switched places: she, President Shinra and some of the guards were on one side of the road; Reno and a couple of other guards were on the other side closest to the building. The guards followed Reno, who was already running into the building.

Rosalind's PHS rang. Picking up, she was slightly surprised to hear Veld on the other end.

"What's your situation?" Briefly, Rosalind wondered if he could read minds. She explained what had happened.

"I see," Veld said at last. "It seems AVALANCHE is putting everything they've got into this operation." He sighed. "Still, the President's safety is our priority. Get him to the branch office safely. It doesn't need to be said, but AVALANCHE could be anywhere, so stay on your guard at all times. As long as you stick close to him, you shouldn't run into too many problems."

Somehow Rosalind doubted that, but she replied with an affirmative and hung up. Nodding at the guards, they started off down the street once again.

They passed a number of shops and residences. Things were once again eerily quiet – what had happened to all the citizens? Were they hiding? They passed a sweet shop. Just then the door to the shop banged open, and voices shouted.

"He's here! Come on!"

"Do something! Quickly!" President Shinra bellowed.

Spinning around, Rosalind fired off rounds, double tapping so that it looked as if the operatives had been hit at the same time. They had walked only a few feet more when they were attacked again. These operatives too, Rosalind took out quickly. There were more shouts. Rosalind spun around, leaving the last man she had dispatched to fall spinelessly to the ground. Her eyes widened.

President Shinra, who had run for it was standing just across the entrance to an apartment building – which AVALANCHE operatives were boiling out of.

"You! They're over here!" President Shinra shouted, alarmed. Biting back an oath, Rosalind ran for his position.

Instantly, the AVALANCHE operatives swarmed the President. They were pushing him around now, and a couple of them were drawing weapons –

With a strangled yell, Rosalind called upon the lightning spell, gratified as they all went down at once. She rushed to the President's side.

"Be more careful next time!" he growled at her.

"Yes, Mr. President," Rosalind said in as neutral a tone as she could manage. It was hardly her fault that he had rushed out of her line of protection. If he had only stayed beside her, he wouldn't have been attacked like that.

He turned to the guardsmen. "We've lost precious time. We're moving on."

Rosalind turned, following behind the group. They'd attacked the last two times from the rear; if she took up that position, she'd be able to see ahead as well as respond to anything that might come from behind.

Unfortunately, it didn't work out like that. As she caught up with the others, there was a whizzing sound, and one of the guards fell over, dead.

"A sniper?!" Immediately, Rosalind moved in front, shoving President Shinra behind her. The remaining guardsman gestured at the window where the shot had come from, then at the entrance to the building.

"Damn it!" President Shinra blustered. "What do you think you're doing?! You! Get in there! I won't feel at all safe until that vermin's taken care of!"

"Yes sir." She wished he would stop shouting. Things were tense enough without him roaring in her ear. "Please be careful while I'm gone." She _really _hoped he'd take her advice and just stay put with the guardsman.

The sniper had attacked from the third floor. Rosalind ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The sooner she could take care of this, the sooner she could get back to the President – and the sooner they'd make it to the branch office. As it was, it felt like the office was miles away.

She burst into the room where the sniper had shot from. The idiot was actually taking the time to disassemble his rifle. She nearly laughed. The operative scrambled up, clearly surprised. Amateurs. A lot of these so-called AVALANCHE people were amateurs. The operative reached for a handgun in his holster. Rosalind sighed.

"I've never lost a gun fight before," she murmured. "Let's go!"

The operative then dropped his gun. Rosalind blinked. He bent over to pick it up.

This was too much. He wasn't even worth the bullet. She zapped him with a thunderbolt.

There was a scream from outside. Rosalind rushed to the window.

Three AVALANCHE members had surrounded the President and the guardsman.

"The President?! I've got to hurry!"

She didn't think she had ever run so fast in her life. Within seconds, she had cleared the final landing and was shoving her way outside. She grunted as she impacted with something. There was suddenly a lot of purple in her field of vision, which soon cleared. President Shinra was staring at her, wild eyed.

"Mr. President?!"

"The guard's been killed," he said, pointing rather stupidly at the dead guardsman. Rosalind nodded briskly.

"I'll take care of them," she said. "Please, sir. Wait here." She sounded exasperated to her own ears, but he would just have to live with it.

When she got back, she found to her relief that for once, the President had stayed put. They started – for the umpteenth time – the trek to the branch office.

It had only been a few minutes when yet another contingent of AVALANCHE showed itself. Rosalind counted four of them ahead of her. Shouts made her turn around – they were behind her too!

Ignoring the President's shouts, Rosalind dove into the fray. She dealt with three out of four of the rear contingent with magic. The fourth one somehow managed to evade the lightning bolt aimed at him. This one Rosalind took out with a bullet. Turning her attention to the group in front, she raised her hand again to call forth her magic again.

When it was over, Rosalind let out a breath. Glancing up at the street numbers, she closed her eyes. They were just a block away from the branch office. Somehow, they'd made it this far.

"Double time indeed," she muttered under her breath, echoing Reno's earlier words.

_To be continued…_

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_Author's Notes:_ Thanks very much to those who have been commenting. :) Your words are a great encouragement, and I do appreciate you taking the time to write. The action bits are always challenging to write for anybody, methinks. In a way they're like sex scenes: There's a fine line between TMI and not enough; credulity and "hey, that's not humanly possible"! Not that I'd know anything about that. I mean, if I had to publish a lemon, it'd probably take me 10 years because I'd be too busy a) choking b) laughing c) going back and deleting, shaking my head going, "What the hell am I thinking?" I'll leave writing of romance novels and such to the experts. :3


	11. The Assassination: Rosalind

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ If I owned Square-Enix, Gackt would be in every FF title, never mind the Compilation, in the manner of a leather-pantsed, faux-French Cid. :D

…Rejoice, for I do not own a thing. XD (And rejoice also, for the Gackt thing was a joke)

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**Chapter 11: The Assassination of President Shinra (Rosalind)**

Rosalind accompanied the president closely inside the branch office. If the past few hours had taught her anything, it was that letting one's guard down even in safe zones like this one was a deadly mistake. The President didn't seem to appreciate her company, however. No sooner had they entered the building than he told her to back off.

"You're dismissed. I'll call you again when I need you."

"But sir –" Rosalind had been given orders to escort the President. Technically her duty ended here, but leaving him here was just as dangerous as it had been out there.

"Listen, you! I'm the one that gives you your orders and signs your paycheques and I'm telling you I don't need a nursemaid hovering over me. Now go! I'll call for you when I need you."

What could she say to that? "…yes sir." She watched him go. Her PHS rang, and she picked up, still feeling as if she was doing something wrong.

"What's your current status?" Veld.

Rosalind explained what had happened since leaving the hotel – the bombing of the road, how Reno had left to deal with it, the numerous attempts made by AVALANCHE to get to the President. "-and we've made it to the branch office but he's insisting on being left alone. Sir, what should I -"

"Don't leave him alone," Veld said firmly. "Not until this press event is over."

Rosalind winced. "Yes sir." She'd likely get an earful from the President, but an order was an order.

"Don't worry," Veld said, as if he'd read her mind. "You can tell President Shinra that you're following my direct orders. If he has a problem, he can take it up with me."

"Thank you, sir." She hung up. Now, where had President Shinra gone?

She caught up with him just as he was about to enter the press room. A pair of guards waited at the end of the hall.

"This way, please."

They came to the conference room. The guards stopped and saluted. "The conference room is just beyond this point, Mr. President."

President Shinra grunted. He entered the room. Rosalind made to follow, but one of the guards held out a hand, stopping her.

"I've got a message from your boss," he said. "He wants you to watch the entrance to the building to make sure nobody gets in."

But Veld had just phoned her and told her to stay with the President. Could he mean Tseng? She frowned. "Really? I was told the guard the President."

"We just got the message ourselves, ma'am," the guard said apologetically.

"…I understand," Rosalind said. She turned, coming back the way she had come.

In the corridors, Rosalind was just reaching for her PHS when she spotted someone crumpled on the ground. Upon closer inspection, she realized that it was a Junon guardsman. Rushing to his side, she knelt down.

"Are you all right?"

The guard groaned. His face was bruised – he'd taken a hit. "Who did this to you?"

The guard grimaced. "They're fakes… The President is in danger…"

_Oh no… _Veld and Tseng _hadn't_ given separate orders. Those guards -! Leaving the guardsman where he was, she tore back down the hall. _Damn it! _

Whipping out her gun, she turned the corner. She didn't even bother to slow down as she encountered AVALANCHE operatives. The ones that she could avoid, she did; the ones that stood in her way, she gunned down. She banged her way into the conference room, taking the operatives by surprise.

The fight was short but brutal. When it was over, there was blood everywhere, one man's throat ripped open and spilling blood freely.

The door opened, and Rosalind spun, ready to take care of whoever it was.

"Sorry I'm late," Reno said, grinning at them, holding up his hands in mock surrender. Rosalind put her weapon down.

"Reno! Thank goodness…" She breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't scare me like that."

"Huh?" He looked down. "Oh. Gotcha. Sorry." He waved to the President. "Looks like everything's set, huh?"

President Shinra gave a derisive snort. "What were you doing this whole time? Get someone to clean this mess up," he said, jerking his head at the corpses.

Half an hour later, President Shinra was standing in front of a podium that had been set up, addressing the cameras that would feed his speech to every news channel for the six o'clock report. Rosalind and Reno stood off to the side, out of the view of the cameras.

"Looks like everything is gonna be all right," Reno whispered.

"That's a relief," Rosalind whispered back. She hoped that things would settle down once the conference was over. Due to the attacks made on his life, a helicopter had been called, which would take the President straight back to Midgar. Essentially, the Turks' job would be over after the press conference ended.

"You did a good job," Reno said, leaning further into the wall. "Old Man Shinra isn't easy to handle."

"I'll agree with you on that," Rosalind muttered.

They watched the President give his speech. He was just launching into the budgetary plans for the next fiscal period when all the lights shut down.

"Huh? A blackout?! Stay close to the President, rookie!" Beside her, she could hear Reno take out his EMR. She clicked the safety off her own weapon. Blinking a few times, her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness.

A PHS went off. A moment later, Rosalind heard Reno respond. "Everything's all right on this end," he was saying. Rosalind began making her way toward the podium.

"Hey!" Reno said. "There's a problem with the generators. The boss man wants you to go and check it out. I'll stay here with Old Man Shinra."

"Yes sir." Rosalind said, moving back to the entrance. Her eyes by now had adjusted fairly well. She could make out people and objects to within a few feet. Still, this pitch blackness was unsettling. Walking carefully, she felt her way toward the door. Rosalind's PHS went off.

"It's me," Veld said. "I'm going to guide you to the generators."

"Sir, I can't see anything," Rosalind protested.

"I can trace your signal from your PHS and overlay it with the map of the building. Don't worry – I'll guide your steps. Switch to your earpiece – you won't be able to talk and look at the map at the same time."

With Veld's help she navigated the corridors, checking her position on her PHS every now and then. Occasionally she ran into an AVALANCHE operative. Fighting in the dark wasn't easy, but somehow she managed to get through it. Finally, she was at the entrance to the generator room. She hit the switch. The sudden wash of light hurt after being in the dark for so long, and Rosalind had to blink a few times.

"What was the problem?" Veld asked.

Rosalind cocked her head, looking at the breaker switch. A quick glance at the control panel told her that there hadn't been a malfunction. Someone had just switched off the power. None of the breakers had been switched off except for the one on this floor.

"It looks like AVALANCHE cut the power to this floor."

"Get back to the President as quickly as you can." Veld's gruff voice cut tersely into her ear.

For what felt like the hundredth that time day, Rosalind found herself running to beat the clock. What was AVALANCHE really up to? Why did they want to destroy the Shin-Ra Company? How the heck had they gotten this many people and resources in the first place? It boggled the mind.

By the time she reached the press room, she was out of breath.

President Shinra was safe, that much she could see. So was Reno. Her eyes flickered from him, to his brandished EMR, to the other man in the room. A man in light coloured fatigues, short brown hair and glasses. He smiled pleasantly at Rosalind as she stepped inside.

"Good timing," Reno muttered. In a louder voice he addressed Rosalind. "I'm going to take the President somewhere safe. You keep Fuhito busy."

Fuhito? He must have meant this bespectacled man. She nodded, still somewhat breathless. "All right. I'll try my best."

Reno had been backing away, leading President Shinra steadily toward the back of the room. With his elbow, he hit the wall, which slid away to reveal a secret passage. The man – Fuhito merely watched them, that same pleasant smile never leaving his face. When they were gone, he turned his attention to Rosalind.

"Well, that was certainly unexpected. No matter. They will be caught in due time." He bowed. "Greetings, Miss Turk. I am Fuhito."

Rosalind raised her weapon. "Are you one of those AVALANCHE people too?"

"Correct." He drew his own weapon. "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to live. It's nothing personal, I assure you. For the sake of the Planet, however…"

He'd moved before she could get a lock on him. Her eyes widened.

"How do you expect to lay a finger on me with that kind of speed?" Fuhito asked, reappearing at her side. He was still smiling, but there was a cold menace in his eyes. Rosalind gasped. She tried to dodge, but Fuhito merely chuckled and leapt back. Raising his arm, he fired his gun.

Rosalind was thrown from her position by the force of – What had that been? She hissed. Getting up on her knees, she felt something warm and sticky. She raised her hand. It was blood. Looking down, she saw that there was a sizzling wound at her side, blood running freely from it. What had that been? She looked up through glassy eyes at Fuhito.

Standing up, ignoring the pain at her side, she took aim with her weapon. Fuhito laughed again.

"Well, I will give you credit. You're much more stubborn – and foolish – than I expected."

Taking aim, she fired a shot. Fuhito easily dodged, firing off a shot of his own. Rosalind barely got away. She gasped harshly as her sudden movement aggravated her wound. There was the sound of air being displaced, and with violent force, Rosalind skidded along the floor. Coughing, she tried to lift her head, blinking away the spots swimming before her eyes.

"What's this?" Fuhito asked, his tone like that of a cat who had caught a mouse and was now contemplating just how to toy with it. "Are you tired already?"

Frustrated, Rosalind tried to get up again, but immediately sank back down again as pain stabbed through her. The spots were getting thicker, stubbornly refusing to leave her field of vision.

Fuhito obviously judged that she'd had enough. "Well, if you'll excuse me then, I'll take my leave."

"Wait," she rasped, hands clawing at the ground. She had to get up. She had to!

Fuhito chuckled again, amused at her efforts. "Please, don't fret. The day you take your last breath surely approaches. I will ensure that." There was a shifting somewhere beyond her, and Rosalind thought he might be lining up the shot that would deliver her final blow.

"In the meantime, please, enjoy the fireworks show we've got planned for you all. I'm sure you'll find it most delightful."

"Fireworks… show?" What was he talking about? Wasn't he going to finish her off? She pushed herself up a little, ignoring the pain. Fuhito was standing at the entrance to the hidden passage Reno had taken President Shinra through.

"Please understand that that I only have the very best of intentions." He tipped his head courteously. "Well, do take care."

Rosalind growled. The smarmy bastard.

Breathing deeply, she tried to get a hold of herself. Getting angry wouldn't do her any favours. As it was, she was pretty badly wounded. She had to do something about that before she could follow him.

She fumbled in her pocket for something. She felt it – a hard plastic container. Taking it out from her pocket, she squinted at it. This would do. Undoing the cap with some difficulty, she stuck an orb in her mouth, feeling the substance melt and make its way down her throat. In an instant, she felt a warm tingling sensation. Searching her pockets again, she came up with another one of the potions and swallowed this one too. Within moments, she felt much better than she had before.

Her PHS rang. Rosalind grimaced. Okay, so it would take more than a couple of potions to get rid of the headache.

"We've got an emergency situation," Veld said, his voice tight. "AVALANCHE has seized the mako cannon."

Her headache had just gotten worse.

"If they fire the cannon, they'll destroy Midgar in one shot."

That got her attention. So that was what Fuhito had meant by the 'fireworks show'. She had to stop them!

When she got outside, the city was in chaos. It was as if all the people that had been in hiding before had come out, and were pouring in all different directions. Klaxons blared. A couple of storefront windows were broken. The Junon army was nowhere to be seen. What had happened?

The PHS rang again.

"Rosalind, I've sent Reno to your location. Meet up with him and head to the mako cannon."

"Understood."

"One more thing. President Shinra has been shot and left for dead by AVALANCHE."

"What?!"

"We've sent the paramedics to deal with the situation, so you don't need to worry. Just deal with the cannon."

"Yes sir."

Things were going from bad to worse. Had it only been this time last week when she'd been doing training exercises, wishing to go on her first real mission?

_Bet you didn't expect anything like this_, Rosalind thought. She looked up when she heard Reno's voice. He looked rather haggard, though he was still holding up well – whether he really had that much energy or he was forcing himself like she was, it was hard to say. She wondered if he knew about the President. She shook her head. Now wasn't the time to think about that. They would deal with the AVALANCHE problem first. Midgar was at stake.

_AVALANCHE… what are they thinking?_

_To be continued…_

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ Whew. There'll be a change of pace in the next chapter. A few changes of pace, really. You'll just have to see what I mean, and really, it's not that big a deal.

To the anonymous reviewer who would have named Rosalind something else: What do you mean you'd have picked something to match up with Elena's name? (Is dead curious) Actually, I'm pretty happy with the way things have worked out. In my mind Rosalind is an acceptable name put next to Elena's. If I'd named her something far out there, e.g. Bubbles, or Rainbow, it would have left this horrible gap in my mind where I try to rationalize why their parents would name one child normally, and gave the other one a hippie name. (x.X) Like Cloud. Not that I dislike him or his name, but yeah. Not exactly matching pairs, Bubbles and Elena.


	12. The Gaeans: Rafe

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ Sadly, I own nothing but the names I gave the playable BC Turks.

_Dedication:_ Another dedication, this time to another friend, who recently announced his engagement to his sweetheart. That whole stereotype about men not being able to commit? Totally a lie! Three of my best guy friends within the past year have married or are about to.

Now, if you're reading this my friend, would cases of Marmite and Guinness and a ticket for a factory tour do for a congratulatory gift, or should I keep my eyes peeled for a future registry? ;)

* * *

**Chapter 12: The Gaeans for Planetary Restoration (Rafe)**

It not quite seven in the morning when Rafe got the call from Veld telling him to come to headquarters. While seven was by no means an unreasonable hour in which to get up, he was still getting used to the fact that by now he would have been sound asleep had he still been in the Don's service – Corneo's hours had been on the night time side of things, and daytime was when they all slept. Besides vainly struggling to get his body clock to synch with the schedule the Turks kept there had been the patrol followed by the training session which had lasted until the early hours. All in all, Rafe was going on less than five hours of sleep.

When he got to headquarters, he found nobody in the bullpen. Shrugging to himself, he made his way to the main conference room where he found St. Andrew. He nodded to the other man, who was rubbing at his eyes.

"You've been called too?"

St. Andrew nodded. "Uh huh."

He looked around. "Where are the others?"

St. Andrew shrugged. The room was dark – nobody had bothered turning on the lights. Rafe took a seat at one of the desks. A few moments later, someone hit the lights. Samantha came in, followed right away by both Tseng and Veld. Immediately, St. Andrew straightened up from his slouched position against the wall.

The commander-in-chief of the Turks looked around. "Where's Rude?"

Rafe and St. Andrew exchanged looks. What was going on here?

"He's been held up. He'll be on his way soon," Tseng replied. Veld nodded.

"Well, let's get started. About five hours ago, hostile elements were detected in Midgar. An anti-Shin-Ra group calling themselves AVALANCHE have made what is essentially a declaration of war against the company. In the early hours of this morning they attempted to destroy the Sector 8 reactor. They failed in the attempt, but we have word now that they are gathering en masse in Junon, with the goal of assassinating the President."

Rafe blinked. Well, he hadn't been expecting that. "They tried to destroy a reactor?" he repeated. "And now they're targeting the President?"

"Yes. We're trying to find out more as we speak, but we're short on men. That's where you come in," Tseng replied.

At that moment, the door opened and Rude, followed by Reno and Rosalind trooped in. Reno and Rosalind in particular looked particularly worse for wear. Rosalind especially, who normally looked quite neat and presentable was dishevelled, her hair a mess and dark circles under her eyes.

"What happened to you?" Samantha exclaimed, looking up and down at the rumpled Rosalind. She didn't pay so much attention to Reno, since he more or less always looked like that.

Rosalind smiled thinly. "It's a long story," she murmured.

"Explain it," Veld ordered.

"Yes sir." Rosalind paused, looking at Reno, then cleared her throat. She explained what had happened – the chance encounter with AVALANCHE, the close call with the reactor, the sheer numbers of the group, how they were organized.

St. Andrew whistled. He had slid into a seat by one of the desks, his head resting against the back of the chair. "Wonder what their beef is?"

Samantha crossed her arms. "Why are they targeting Shin-Ra in the first place? It doesn't make any sense."

St. Andrew glared at her. "I said that already."

She stuck out her tongue at him. St. Andrew's head snapped up and he opened his mouth, obviously ready to retort. Veld shot them a look, and both of them desisted.

"That remains to be seen," Tseng said. "In the meantime, a large number of these AVALANCHE members have gathered in Junon."

A thought occurred to Rafe. "Isn't that where -?"

Veld nodded, his expression somehow more sober than usual. "The President is due to carry out a press junket there. Reno, Rosalind, since you've both had direct contact with the hostile elements you will leave immediately after this meeting for Junon. Continue to send in periodic reports. Your first job is the protection of the President at all costs."

"What about the rest of us?" This from St. Andrew.

"I'll be sending you out to gather information and intelligence."

They were split up. Reno and Rosalind left for Junon. Rude, Samantha, St. Andrew and Rafe were sent to different locations. Rafe was assigned to investigate Junon with St. Andrew with Tseng, who would pilot them.

"Hey, when are we gonna learn to fly these things?" St. Andrew asked.

"Not for a while yet," Tseng answered shortly, getting into the pilot's seat. Getting the hint, St. Andrew dropped the subject.

Idly, Rafe wondered why it was that Reno and Rosalind had left separately. He had St. Andrew were only about an hour behind Reno and Rosalind's team. They were all going to the same place – couldn't they have requisitioned one of the larger choppers? Was the situation really that bad?

The trip was made mostly in silence, and when they arrived, an employee rushed up to them, saluting smartly as they disembarked. The air control employee got into the chopper. Behind them, it rose up into the air again, heading for the next contact point.

Tseng turned to face them, his hands behind his back. His relaxed posture didn't betray the consternation Rafe knew the man must be feeling.

"We'll begin scouting. It's 14:00 now. President Shinra is set to do the press conference at 17:00 this afternoon. From there, he'll be going on an inspection tour. He will be leaving the hotel at exactly 16:17. Veld's handling all the security related to that. Our job is to find information on AVALANCHE here. Meet me back at the airport at 16:45."

Rafe and St. Andrew nodded. Then St. Andrew seemed to think of something, because he twitched. "Hey, how are we gonna canvas the city? It's pretty huge for just the two of us."

Tseng's mouth quirked up in what may have been a smile. "First of all, there will be three of us, not two. Second of all, I'll input a map of the sections you'll be covering into your PHS. If you work along that grid, you should get done fairly quickly." Tseng reached into his pocket, flipping his own mobile open. "We don't have time to waste. St. Andrew, you'll cover L and Lower L-Junon. Rafe, you'll cover R and Lower-R. Let me know if you find anything."

With that, they were dismissed. They took the elevator down to city level and dispersed.

Rafe took out his PHS. As Tseng had said, there was a map already filtered into the device. Looking at the arrow that marked out his destination, and the small yellow blip that marked his position, he nodded to himself.

Keeping an eye out for the distinctive uniforms Rosalind had described, Rafe made his way down the streets. He stopped at each of the shops, asking them if they'd seen anyone matching that description. Nobody had. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary going on in the streets, either. Rafe's eyes narrowed. They were being quiet. That was almost as bad as a whole band of them marauding across the city streets. If they were such a large group, and the lot of them had been sent here to kill the president…

He finished patrolling the upper section of the city and moved down a long flight of narrow stairs to the lower area. High walls on either side of the stairs blocked out the sunlight. A chill wind bit at Rafe's face, cutting through the material of his suit. Junon was a coastal city, located south of the Junon Bay from Midgar. Although it didn't get much in the way of snow, it did get its fair share of wind, and it was winter. The high walls and wind-tunnel streets didn't help matters, either.

Reaching the end of the stairs, Rafe carefully looked to the left and the right. There was nobody here either.

He had just reached the end of the city, and was heading toward the elevator that would take him to the military barracks in the upper city when he saw it. It was flapping in the wind, taped to a lamppost. Hands in his pockets, Rafe approached the flyer.

'SAVE THE PLANET FROM SHIN-RA! MAKO ENERGY KILLS!!' the big bold letters screamed. Plucking the flyer off from the post, Rafe examined it more closely. There was a website printed in small letters at the bottom of the flyer and an address located here in Junon. Rafe made a noise in his throat. Surely they weren't that stupid…

Looking at his PHS, he saw that there was still some time before he had to be back at the airport. Shrugging to himself, he started back to the upper city.

The church was located in a side street between an office building and a laundrette. Checking the flyer one more time, Rafe pushed open the doors of the church.

Inside it was cool and quiet. There was a reception desk to the left and a rack full of little pamphlets and flyers beside it. More of the same flyers from outside were stuffed into one of the small shelves. These he scooped out, stuffing what he could into an inner pocket.

"Can I help you?"

A man of about retirement age came out from the double doors leading to the main hall of worship. He didn't seem the type to be affiliated with a terrorist organization. He was wearing a v-necked bright green sweater over a white button down shirt, brown slacks and well worn loafers. His hair was a salt-and-pepper sort of grey, and there were small wrinkles around his eyes and around his mouth. He walked with the aid of a cane.

"Can you tell me more about this group?" Rafe held up one of the flyers. "It says they meet here in the church."

The man took the flyer in both hands, examining it. Instantly, his face lit up. "Oh, yes. Are you interested in attending a meeting?"

Now that was an interesting possibility. He thought about it for a split second before shrugging nonchalantly. "Maybe. When do they hold meetings?"

"Well, let me see," the man said, bustling back into the office that connected to the reception. Taking down a green binder, he flipped through the pages, muttering to himself. "Every Thursday evening from 7-8. Attendance is open to anybody who's interested."

Rafe approached the reception desk. "They seem sincere about their objectives," he said, leaning casually against the countertop, his eyes flickering down at the binder's contents.

"They're always very nice. Some of the members help clean the church sometimes, and they always make a very generous donation."

Shifting, Rafe coughed. "Is it safe? I mean –" He gauged the old man's face. "I mean, the flyer makes this blatant anti-Shin-Ra statement. What if they come swarming in here?"

The old man's eyes widened. "But they're just an environmental group. They're not doing anything wrong!" He closed the binder. "Besides, you don't know much about the beach here, do you?"

"What about the beach?"

The man frowned at him. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen you among the parishioners. Are you new here?"

Adopting a sheepish smile, Rafe bobbed his head once. "I just moved from Midgar." He grimaced. "There were some complications I wanted to leave behind."

"No need to say anymore," the man nodded, apparently satisfied. He chuckled. "I got into scrapes when I was a young feller too. Well, the Gaeans for Planetary Restoration certainly aren't doing anything wrong. They think Shin-Ra's behind a lot of the environmental degradation we've been seeing throughout the world lately, and they're a hundred percent right! Take the beach. Junon used to have a marvellous beach – the prettiest thing your eyes have seen – definitely one to rival the one at Costa del Sol. 'Course then the Shin-Ra built the upper city and blocked the sun out from the lower part… It wasn't long before things started dying and people stopped coming to the beaches, too.

"We were none too happy about that. As if that weren't bad enough, suddenly construction crews were coming in day and night. We could hear them banging and clanging up here, building their military machines. The army got bigger, too. But there was nothing really we could do. Shin-Ra was at war with that far off country in the west… civilians were the last thing on their minds.

"Not long after the war ended, the Gaeans began preaching. They've helped to rebuild from the damage we've sustained, and they want to bring back the beach. Plus, no matter which way you slice it, you have to admit, what the Shin-Ra are doing can't be called environmentally friendly." The man smiled thinly. Rafe nodded.

"Tell you what. Why don't you take this?" The man reached under the counter and handed Rafe a pamphlet. "It'll tell you more about the Gaeans and what they're about. If you've got the time and the interest, you can drop into the church on Thursday, all right?"

Rafe nodded. "Thanks." He tucked this pamphlet into his suit jacket as well, trying not to dislodge any of the other papers he'd crammed in there. With a nod, he left the church. Checking the time, he started making his way back to the airport. There was no conclusive proof that these Gaeans were connected with AVALANCHE, but the timing was uncanny; just a few months before the end of the war with Wutai.

Taking out the pamphlet, Rafe read the title: _Gaeans for Planetary Restoration and the Studies of Planet Life._

_To be continued… _

* * *

_Author's Notes: _Oh gods I need a beta reader. I have this horrible habit, even after I've read something through thrice, of missing the most obvious mistakes. Even after I've left something sitting for days to clear my mind the mistakes will still be there. I was looking at the BC scripts again and realized I'd screwed up the timing in Chapter 9 – that little note that says President Shinra asked for a scotch and it wasn't even 10 a.m. – it would make no sense because in the official game time, Reno and the PC Turk arrive in Junon – at 1 p.m. XD;;; I've gone and fixed that.

So this is the change of pace I was talking about. I did say I would be following the game more or less, but I also wanted to branch out and do a few things outside of what we see in the missions. This is one of those things. Apart from that, I want to start looking into what the Turks do when they're not chasing down AVALANCHE, rustling thugs or serving the president scotch. ;) Don't worry – we'll be back on the main storyline soon enough – but I did want to do some exploring. :) If you want to take the cynical view, I guess you can call these fillers. I'm following in the illustrious footsteps of BLEACH and Naruto. XDDD


	13. The Old Stomping Grounds: St Andrew

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer: _I don't own a thing, yo. Got it memorized?

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**Chapter 13: The Old Stomping Grounds (St. Andrew)**

Being back in Junon was weird, St. Andrew reflected. It hadn't been all that long ago that he'd been riding the streets here with his boys. And now here he was in a well-made suit, with a badge and a new affiliation. He felt out of place and awkward, though he wasn't sure whether that was due to being back in Junon or because of his position now vis-à-vis his position then.

Taking his PHS out from his pocket, he flipped it open, looking at the grids glowing in blue on his screen. All he had to do was follow the map, right? But what did he need it for, anyway? Junon had been his home for years; he knew the place like the back of his hand, and if anybody knew where to get the lowdown on groups like AVALANCHE, it would be him.

After some thought, St. Andrew put the phone back in his pocket. He knew just where to start looking for information…

Taking a right on D Avenue, St. Andrew passed a row of rust coloured buildings. Every few houses, tiny alleys lead to other avenues and streets. At the fourth alley, he hung a left. Partway down the alley was a brown metal door with a knob set in the middle, and a keyhole on the right side. There were no numbers on the door. Raising his fist, he knocked.

At first there was no answer. Then there was a scuffling sound, and a rough voice barked "What's the password?"

St. Andrew swore colourfully at the man, who opened the door a crack – then opened it wider when he realized who was on the other side.

"Andy? That really you?"

St. Andrew grinned, showing his teeth. "Who else would I be, Buck?"

"Shit man, I thought you were dead man!"

"It'd take more than that to kill me," St. Andrew said confidently.

"Yeah man, I bet," Buck laughed, pushing the door wide open. "Come in." Then he stopped. "Wait." His eyes fell to St. Andrew's clothes. "What's with the suit? You look like one of them Shin-Ra…"

"It's a long story. Lemme in and I'll tell you everything," St. Andrew said.

Buck gave the suit another once-over, then seemingly deciding that it wasn't that big a deal, shrugged and let him in. St. Andrew looked around.

The place hadn't changed. The floor was still bare cement. The walls were still lined with wooden crates stacked at varying heights. A bare bulb lit the room with a dull orange glow, and old posters with famous bikes and underground heroes were pasted on the walls. The only other furniture in the room was a round table around which crates were placed in lieu of chairs. Several brown bottles of beer, cigarettes stubbed in overflowing and dented ashtrays, a copy of a newspaper and a scattered deck of cards were on it.

"…the old dartboard is gone," St. Andrew said, at last picking out a change from the room of his memories.

"Yeah. Ness didn't like the fact she kept losing so we had to get rid of it." Buck chuckled. "Things have really changed since you been gone, man." He took a seat on a crate, eyeing St. Andrew. "Okay man, so talk. What happened to you? We heard you got caught and then we ain't heard nothing from you, man."

St. Andrew scratched at the back of his head. Where should he even begin? He took a deep breath.

Several minutes later, St. Andrew was leaning back against the pitted wall behind him. He had just finished telling Buck everything, concluding with his current situation now. Buck whistled.

"We'd wondered about that. We thought you were dead, so uh…" Buck looked embarrassed. "Don't take this the wrong way man, but we needed a leader, so…"

"Don't worry about it," St. Andrew said, snorting. "Who is it?"

"Nick."

St. Andrew grunted. At least it was someone he could stand.

"Look, I need some information. I'm hoping you guys might know something," St. Andrew said, changing the subject. He looked Buck in the eye. "If anybody knows this town, it's you boys."

"Got that right," Buck said, with what would have been a modest nod if it wasn't for the Cheshire grin.

"How much d'you know about a group called AVALANCHE?"

"AVALANCHE?"

"Yeah. They've been causing some trouble in Midgar lately. Word is they're also in Junon."

Buck scratched his head. "Man, I don't know anything about that. What do they do? Drugs or some shit like that?"

"No," St. Andrew replied, shaking his head. "If you don't know, that's cool. Guess I'll do some searching on my own."

"You gonna need help? The boys'll go with you no problem, you know."

"Nah," St. Andrew said. Best to leave them out of this. He stood up, raising a hand. "I'll see you around, Buck. Gotta get back to work."

"Yeah, sure." Buck opened the door for him. "Good luck man."

"Yeah."

St. Andrew stood at the main street again. So that had been a bust. The gang was usually on top of what went on in the city, but this time, either the gang's feelers hadn't gone far enough or AVALANCHE was doing a good job of keeping a low profile. Maybe he'd better do as Tseng suggested. With a sigh, he fished out his PHS once more and began walking.

* * *

_To be continued… _


	14. PreEmptive Strike: Rafe

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_I don't own BC. Nuuuuuu! T.T

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**Chapter 14: Pre-Emptive Strike (Rafe)**

Just as Rafe reached the airport, his PHS went off. It was Tseng, and he sounded particularly alarmed.

"Get back here as soon as possible! The cannon! AVALANCHE has gotten hold of the cannon!"

At that moment, the piercing sound of klaxons rent the air. It took everything Rafe had not to jump at the sound. He broke into a run. The elevator was several hundred feet ahead…

It was there that he ran into his first AVALANCHE operatives. They were gathering near the lift that would take them to the airport. Rafe's eyes narrowed. Jumpsuits, visored masks, suspicious behaviour… That had to be them. Taking out his weapons, he yelled. "Hey!"

The sound startled the operatives, who immediately took out weapons of their own upon seeing him.

He'd hit half a dozen of them before they really had time to react. Taking their confusion into account, Rafe quickly changed clips, letting the spent ones clatter to the ground. Feeling his pulse pick up, Rafe grinned. He'd missed this.

There were four operatives remaining. Two of them carried heavy pipes, and the other two carried handguns. The ones with the pipes would be easy to take down. The other two… Well, they hadn't called him the Death God of Sector 6 for nothing, Rafe thought grimly as he began to plot a stratagem in his mind.

Making a feint, Rafe made it look as if he planned to run straight through the group in a desperate move to break through. The men fell for it. As the gunners lined up their shots and the melee combatants steeled themselves for Rafe's approach, he dove to the side, firing several shots, hitting the legs and torsos of the right column – one gunman and one melee combatant went down, leaving just the two on the right flank. Quickly, Rafe aimed for the remaining gunman. This wasn't even a contest, he thought, as the enemy went down and Rafe got up to deal with the last man.

Hitting the button for the lift, Rafe stumbled a bit as it jerked into operation. With a sigh, Rafe checked the bullets left. He had another couple of spare clips and he was halfway through the ones in his guns. He would have to be conservative. Halfway up, Rafe felt a whizzing by his head. He jerked his head up.

Up on an overhanging pillar, an AVALANCHE operative was perched, lining up a second shot. Without even thinking, Rafe whipped his left arm out and squeezed the trigger. The man fell heavily, hitting the side of the lift before rolling off. After a few seconds, he heard a thunk; the operative had hit the ground below.

Eyes alert to other such dangers, Rafe picked off two more men (they were persistent to try for him like this, Rafe thought) before the lift reached the airport level. He wondered how it was they'd known he was coming up. It was strange, now that he thought about it, that they would be gathered like this. Even if it was by chance, or to do something like steal an aircraft, the way they'd been positioned told him that something else was going on.

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he entered the small airport operations base. Sliding his security card through the reader, he was gratified when the interlocking metal doors slid shut behind him. He was pretty sure AVALANCHE hadn't breached this compound. Walking quickly down the starkly lit corridors, he keyed his way past another door and onto the runway itself. He nodded at the Wutaian man standing just at the exit.

"Sir, I just ran into several AVALANCHE members on my way here."

Tseng started at that. "AVALANCHE? You're sure?"

"Yes sir. They matched Rosalind's description perfectly, and they opened fire on me when they saw me."

At these words, Tseng's countenance clouded. "How did they know where to go?"

"Maybe they wanted one of the planes," Rafe suggested, though he himself didn't really believe this. Obviously Tseng wasn't buying it either, for he shook his head, crossing his arms.

"No, there's something else. Tell me more about your engagement."

Rafe described his encounter. There had been approximately a dozen men milling around the area, as if they were waiting for something – or someone. As soon as they had caught sight of Rafe, they had opened fire, forcing him to engage. On the way up using the lift, there had been snipers stationed at regular intervals. The positions, now that Rafe thought about it, weren't ones that could easily be reached. They would have had to climb up there some time ago.

"It's almost as if they were waiting for us," Rafe commented. "But there's no way they could have known we would come here. And anyway, I thought they were targeting President Shinra."

Tseng nodded. "It begs the question of how they found out about that too. There was no advance notice of the inspection, and there's no set date for it. The only people who know anything about it are the executive." At this, his look grew even more troubled, a furrow appearing between his brows.

"Sir," Rafe said, "You said something about the cannon."

"Yes. I'm waiting for more news, but it seems as if AVALANCHE has seized the mako cannon – and are aiming it at Midgar."

"What?!" The news surprised Rafe. First they had tried to blow up a reactor, and now they were trying to destroy the whole city?! The destructive designs of this group were nothing short of phenomenal.

"Rosalind and Reno are dealing with the situation as we speak. I've just reported to Veld. We're to stay here until he gets back to us." He frowned. "Where's St. Andrew?"

Rafe shrugged. The other man had been left in charge of L-Junon. He hadn't heard a thing from him the entire time. "Should I call him?" Rafe asked, taking out his PHS.

"There's no need," Tseng said. "I'll do it."

There were several moments of silence as Tseng presumably waited for his call to go through. When he spoke again, it was with a loud "What?!"

At first Rafe thought St. Andrew had said something to insult Tseng, but by the look on the man's face, that was far from it. "How many?!" Tseng exclaimed. Rafe's eyes widened. He felt a little alarmed. He hadn't been working with Tseng for long, but this was the first time he'd seen him get this bent out of shape. Obviously, whatever St. Andrew was up against, it wasn't good.

When Tseng hung up, his expression was grim. "We've got bigger problems than we imagined."

"What's happened?" Rafe had an idea. St. Andrew had probably run into operatives and was having a difficult time fighting them.

"St. Andrew has also engaged with AVALANCHE," Tseng said shortly, already keying in another number on his phone. "This is completely beyond our capabilities as it stands." In another moment, he'd connected. "Sir. There are a lot more AVALANCHE here than we could have guessed…"

_To be continued… _


	15. A Distraction With Teeth: St Andrew

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ 'Tisn't mine. Square-Enix owns everything but my imagination and the fruits it bears. 83

**Chapter 15: A Distraction with Teeth (St. Andrew)**

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With an uppercut to the stomach of his enemy, St. Andrew quickly picked up his rod from where it had fallen on the ground, using it to knock the AVALANCHE operative in the head. The cracking sound as the EMR made contact with the other man's skull satisfied St. Andrew – payback was a bitch. Whipping around, he swung his weapon at another man, who went down with an abortive grunt.

Breathing harshly, St. Andrew looked around. He'd taken down half a dozen men already, but still more were running down the street toward him, shouting slogans, weapons and fists raised. Damn it, how had the boys missed something as big as _this_?

His PHS rang, and St. Andrew made an annoyed "tch" sound. Hadn't Tseng just called a minute ago? What the hell was he doing?

"Tseng tells me you've come against a large contingent." It was Veld's voice. Instinctively, St. Andrew snapped to attention before realizing how stupid the gesture was – the Turk commander was in no position to see him, and he had more important things to do at the moment. Running, he turned up a side street that would lead him to the set of stairs taking him back to the upper part of the city. He couldn't fight and talk, but he could run.

"Yes sir," St. Andrew said tightly, leaping up the steps as quickly as he could. Behind him, he could hear the enraged shouting of the AVALANCHE operatives. Something whizzed past his ear and he swore before remembering who he was on the phone with. The bastards had guns too.

"There's a new plan. I want you to head for the Junon branch office. Head for the top floor – that's the President's suite. I'll give you new orders when you arrive."

"Understood. What about the defence of the city, though?"

"The Junon guards have been mobilized. Several of them are converging on your position. Stay at the top of the stairs and fend them off for as long as you can. Don't let any of them get through."

St. Andrew grinned, a wicked expression that showed teeth. So the enemy would be trapped on both sides. The high, narrow walls on either side of the staircase would prevent escape. AVALANCHE wouldn't stand a chance. "Gotcha," he replied.

"Reno and Rosalind are currently working to reset the cannon. The President's in his suite. A paramedic team's been dispatched. You'll have to stay with him until he's loaded onto a helicopter."

"Roger," St. Andrew said. He clicked his phone off. Turning around, he saw that dozens of the operatives had pursued him. It was going to be a challenge, dealing with this many people by himself.

Leaping up one more set of stairs, he stopped abruptly, swinging his EMR out in a wide arc. He grinned wolfishly at the startled operatives.

"Okay limp dicks. Bring it on."

_To be continued…_

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_Author's Notes:_ I know. I go away for ages and then come back with something that's really too short to be satisfying. XD I'm a cruel, cruel person. Rest assured the next bit shall be longer and we'll also be returning to our main storyline. :)

I'm also ready to put up some other fanfic in the next little while. One is an unbirthday gift for a friend. The fic features Reno and is written in stream-of-consciousness style that I've experimented with. The second is a Before Crisis one-shot featuring Katana and his beloved Murasame. :D See you on the other side!


	16. The Greatest Security Setup: Rosalind

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer: _The characters, indicia and ideas of Before Crisis don't belong to me. This here story, my own little side plots and playable character names do. Please don't sue me, Square-Enix? D:

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**Chapter 16: The Greatest Security Setup on the Planet (Rosalind)**

Rosalind met up with Reno outside. Her side was still tender from the blast she'd taken, but the potions had done their work for the most part and she was able to function. That was all that mattered.

Reno himself was looking a little dishevelled – more so than usual, at any rate. He still grinned at her as though he were on top of the world, however.

"Oi, rookie. You ready?"

A curt nod and a crisp "yes" was her response.

"Good. Then we're going." He began sprinting toward the mako cannon. Rosalind followed, ignoring the discomfort of her side.

Halfway there, they were met by a dozen Junon guardsmen, who stopped to salute Reno and Rosalind. They came to a stop as well. Reno looked at the leader of the squad.

"You're the backup?"

The squad commander saluted. "Yes sir! We have been assigned to assist in retaking the cannon, sir!"

Reno flashed his teeth. "Great. Come with me then. Rosalind, go ahead and get to the underground. When you get there, head to the control rooms. Do you know your way in?"

Rosalind nodded. She had been sent the information by linear transfer to her PHS earlier.

"Okay then. Let's move!"

When they got to the halfway point to the cannon, they found it well guarded by enemy operatives. Junon soldiery had also gotten there, and the two sides were engaged in a battle that seethed up and down the length of the street. Rosalind dodged the fighting bodies, glad that she was small and quick enough to evade most of them. The operatives that got in her way she quickly dispatched with her gun. Punching in the code for entry, she got inside. There she stopped, pulling out her PHS to call Tseng.

"I've reached the underground pathway, sir," she reported.

"All right." Tseng quickly explained the situation to Rosalind – aside from the President having been shot, Junon's citywide security had gone from A to S. S, Rosalind knew, was the highest security level. Things must have been pretty bad for the city to be on maximum alert.

"…we've also moved the cannon's security system to the highest level, effectively shutting them out from the system," Tseng continued.

"That's encouraging," Rosalind murmured. They may have taken the cannon, but AVALANCHE would have to hack through quite a lot of security to initialize the cannon's firing program.

"Veld is going to be coordinating everybody's movements from headquarters so we can move quickly to get the situation here under control. I'll be relaying your instructions to you in the meantime."

"I understand. What should I do?"

"Reno's cohort is heading for the cannon. Rosalind, I want you to head for the cannon's control room using the underground passage. You're going to finalize the lockdown sequence for the cannon from there."

That sounded simple enough. Acknowledging receipt of her orders, Rosalind started down the passageway, taking some comfort in the cool gunmetal grey of the walls and the steady hum of machinery in the background. AVALANCHE hadn't penetrated the facilities.

-or so she thought. As she made her way down the passages, she heard a tortured scream from somewhere ahead. Eyes widening, she started running, following the passage mapped out for her on the PHS.

She came out into a large room. Like the corridor, this room was also a uniform grey colour. The floor was reinforced by metal plating. The sparse lighting from above lit the dull metal in the room, and that was when Rosalind saw it. What the hell had happened here?

There were bodies. Lots of bodies. As if her sight had activated other senses, Rosalind could smell burnt flesh and blood. She choked back the urge to gag, instead swallowing thickly. Her eyes followed the bodies to the far end of the room, where three giant green robots stood inert. So they had been the ones to dispatch the AVALANCHE operatives… right? This was the security system Tseng was talking about, right?

Walking cautiously so as to avoid the bodies and blood, Rosalind stopped in the middle of the room. Her eyes darted to the robots. Up close, they were much bigger than she'd initially thought. AVALANCHE hadn't stood a chance from the start.

Suddenly a female voice spoke. "Intruder detected," it said in a monotone. Rosalind looked around frantically for the source of the voice. What the hell was that?!

The room suddenly went dark, and red klaxon lights began flashing. The female voice spoke again.

"Elimination subroutine activated."

"What?!" What was going on here?!

The robots, which had been standing idle suddenly whirred to life. Rosalind's eyes widened. The security system had been activated! But that was impossible, Rosalind thought, backing away even as she readied her weapon. The system was supposed to be able to discern between enemy and ally, wasn't it? Something wasn't right.

The robots surrounded her, whirring and emitting a series of beeps and clicks, as if they were communicating with each other. Without thinking, Rosalind aimed at one of them, taking a shot. The bullet damaged the casing of the Proto Golem, but didn't do much else. Rosalind grimaced.

They began to close in on her. There was another whirring noise, then a red beam of light shot out from the chests of all three of them. Instinct told Rosalind to dive.

As she came up again, she was glad she had gone with her instincts. There was now a scorched area on the floor. Rosalind suddenly remembered the burnt bodies and the blood. Lasers – they were equipped with lasers. Now that she looked, she could see other such marks on other places on the floor. She gulped.

Okay, so bullets wouldn't work. What would then? Irritably, Rosalind looked at her gun – and the materia slotted inside it. Of course!

Raising her arm up, Rosalind shouted. "Thunder!" Three bolts of lightning hit the golems, who stopped in the tracks momentarily before moving again. Maybe if she kept hitting them like that…

She called on the lightning once more. Although the golems stopped every time, the magic didn't seem to be having much of an effect. Her eyes narrowed. What other materia did she have on her?

"Comet!"

That seemed to do a little more damage. One of the robots was smoking slightly now, and she could hear something shorting in another.

Alternating spells, she started to see results. The movement of the Proto Golems was getting slower, and they were definitely starting to sizzle now. Running to the other end of the room to buy herself time, Rosalind reached into a pocket, fishing out a small bottle. She worked off the stopper and quickly gulped the contents. Turning her attention to her adversaries once more, she yelled out another Comet spell. That did it. With a loud hissing sizzle that seemed to rush through her eardrums, one of the robots fell over. The other two were still advancing on her, though both of them were sparking badly, one belching out smoke. Rosalind ran, avoiding another laser. With an almighty shout, she called upon another Comet spell.

The burning rocks crashed down upon the Proto Golems. Rosalind stopped, gasping for breath. Would they still come at her?

No. All three of the robots were now still. The sound of struggling hardware soon gave way to hissing, and then, the reassuring sound of systems shutting down. The problem had been neutralized.

There was a pneumatic hissing noise, and Rosalind nearly jumped. What was that?

A ringing cut through the air, and this time Rosalind did jump. Belatedly, she realized that her PHS was ringing. Taking the phone out with shaking hands, she heard Tseng's voice on the other end.

"Rosalind, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, her voice shaking. Being attacked by one's own security system had rattled her. "But it looks as if the security robots are malfunctioning." Tseng noticed the tremor in her voice, because he told her to calm down. His own voice was slightly apologetic, as if he'd been amiss about something.

"…emergency failsafe security program has been activated to the highest level," Tseng was saying. Rosalind blinked. What did that have to do with the system attacking her? She attempted to stop her mind from reeling. Why was she getting so worked up?

"The way the security system works at that level, the robots and other features of the system target anything that moves. The system was designed to eliminate anything that remained in the building once that security level had been activated."

Oh. So that's what he had meant. Feeling calmer already, Rosalind nodded to herself. "In other words, the security program will attack without discrimination." The system wasn't malfunctioning. It was designed to do what it had just done. Then she grimaced. She'd done a number on the Proto Golems. That was probably going to come out of her paycheque.

"That's right," Tseng confirmed. "Your objective remains the same: I want you to go to the control room and lock down the cannon. Use any measures you have to. Just make sure you're prepared. This is the world's most sophisticated security system you're dealing with. Rosalind, can you do it?"

Well, she had come this far, hadn't she? Besides, she thought, standing up straighter, she was a Turk. The world's most sophisticated security system wasn't going to stop her doing her job. "I'll do it, sir," she said, feeling back in control. Her voice had stopped shaking. Her other hand gripped her handgun tightly. There was nothing to be afraid of. Besides, compared with what she was facing, she got the feeling Reno was facing much worse out there. At least she was only dealing with machines here.

Making her way to the end of the room, she found that there was a door where she hadn't seen one before. As she went through it, she heard that same pneumatic hissing noise from before. So it had been this door. Presumably it only opened when the security threat – the Golems in this case – had been neutralized.

Her enemies, as it turned out, were not all machines. While navigating the twisting corridors, she ran into several Guard Hounds and Blood Tastes, who had tracked her scent. She dispatched them quickly. Keeping one eye on her PHS and one out for any attackers, she eventually made her way to a small room. The door closed behind her as she entered.

This room was strange, Rosalind thought. There was nothing in here save for scraps of twisted metal and a door at the other end. Frowning, she made her way to the door. What was this place used for, anyway?

"Intruder detected." It was that voice again. Rosalind nearly groaned. What now?

The lights dimmed and klaxon lights began flashing once more. The door she'd been heading for opened. Two Blood Tastes, the stingers on their heads waving excitedly bounded through. There was a disconcerting grating sound from behind her and Rosalind turned around. A solid metal wall was heading right for her. Rosalind whipped back around: same for the wall on the other side. She had to get through to the exit -!!!

There was a growling sound from just in front of her. Shrieking, Rosalind held up her arms to protect herself.

One of the Blood Tastes was standing up on its hind legs, its jaws snapping at her. It whipped its feeler at her. The feeler hit her face, and Rosalind stumbled. Taking advantage of her disorientation, it leapt, bringing her down onto the floor. Rosalind gasped as the air was forcibly punched out of her. She heard snarling, then yelled as she felt teeth sink into her leg. At this rate she was going to get torn to pieces by the Blood Tastes – if the walls didn't crush her first.

Holding the muzzle of the Blood Taste aiming for her throat with one hand, she reached up with the other. Bringing the muzzle of her gun to its head, she closed her eyes as blood and flesh sprayed her. Spitting, she wiped her eyes, clearing the blood away. She took aim for the second hound and it fell dead with a whimper, its teeth still stuck in her trouser legs. With a frantic kick, she got loose.

Now she had to deal with the wall. Both sides were coming inexorably closer. The shriek of grinding metal filled her ears. Rosalind backed up. Experimentally, she took a shot. The walls were getting closer still. She emptied an entire clip. The walls weren't stopping. There was now about five feet of space between her and the walls.

Gathering her strength, she focused her mind on the targets. Taking a deep breath to clear her thoughts, she shouted as loud as she could. "COMET!!!"

Four feet. "Comet!" she yelled again. "Lightning! Comet!"

Three feet. One of the walls had stopped, but the other one was still moving forward. Taking a step back, she yelled again. One of the meteorites punched the wall hard, denting it. The wall shuddered, then came to a stop.

Barely two feet. Rosalind gasped, hands on her knees. She closed her eyes, struggling to get her equilibrium back. With unsteady hands, she reached into her pocket and took out another small glass bottle. This was the last ether. Once she drank it, she wouldn't have anything else left. Her fingers closed tightly over the bottle, then put it away.

No. There was no telling what else was up ahead. She would have to keep going and rely on her other resources.

Off to the side, the other door had opened once more. Rosalind looked at it warily. Crouching down, she lifted up the leg of her trousers where the Blood Taste had bitten her. There were two puncture wounds where its fangs had gotten her, but the bleeding had stopped. Experimentally, she put weight on that leg, taking a tentative step. Although the limb ached, she could still use it.

Nodding, Rosalind readied her weapon. Just a little further. According to the PHS, she only had to navigate her way through a few more rooms, and she'd be in the room where the control console was housed.

She stepped forward, making her way into the next room.

_Just a little further… Just a little further… _

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_Author's Notes: _Well, this story's certainly looking to be a long one. I just completed writing for the events of Episode 4, and that finished up around Chapter 30! I'm in a quandary now, because I wanted to explore subplots in addition to following the main storyline here. The danger of getting sidetracked however, has already reared its poisonous head over the fic, and I'm thinking it might be best to publish separate side stories – companion pieces that can be read apart from the main storyline. What do you think? Comment and let me know.


	17. The Twin: Rosalind

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own any of it.

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**Chapter 17: The Twin (Rosalind)**

The next room that Rosalind came upon was another large one like that one she'd first found herself in. It looked almost exactly the same, save for the lack of bodies and the fact that searchlight beams traced patterns across the floor. At the far end, at the edges of the lights, Rosalind could see a number of Proto Golems. She frowned. Not this again.

Her PHS rang, and Rosalind picked up.

"All right, Rosalind," Tseng said. There was the sound of beeping and clicking in the background. "I want you to listen carefully. You're going to cross the room to the other side without getting spotted by the searchlights."

Rosalind eyed one of the lights as it steadily made its way from the far side of the room to the other end closest to her position. "What happens if I get caught in one of them?" she asked.

"The security system will activate and try to attack you," came the reply.

She had to admit, the setup here was nothing short of ingenious. Some of the security measures were designed to deal with people if they so much as moved; others like this one waited until you made a mistake – it was a psychological nightmare.

"All right, I understand," she replied. "So I should dodge the searchlights, then."

"That's right." Tseng paused. "Be careful."

_Thanks_, she thought wryly. She took her first step, watching out for the searchlights and the Proto Golems, which stood still, waiting for her to slip up.

She sized up the room. There were four searchlights. The first and third moved from left to right, the second and forth from the opposite direction. The Proto Golems wouldn't be activated unless she was caught by one of the lights. With this knowledge firmly in her mind, Rosalind carefully made her way across the room. She was halfway across when the floor gave out from under her foot. With a shriek, Rosalind fell backwards, scrambling out of the way of the gaping pit that had suddenly appeared.

A light was moving in her direction. Quickly, Rosalind scrambled up, narrowly escaping the beam. She caught a shuddering breath, hand on her chest. That had been too close. And there were probably more trapdoors like that set up throughout the room. Why hadn't Tseng told her about _this_? She retreated back to the end of the room she had started out from, whipping out her PHS.

"Sir," Rosalind said without preamble. "Is there anything else about this room you'd like to tell me? Like, how there are trapdoors?"

Tseng sounded slightly abashed. "I'm sorry, Rosalind. I can track your position through your PHS. I'll tell you where to go and when. Just follow my directions and you won't encounter another trapdoor."

He must have been tired, stressed or worried – or all of those things to forget, Rosalind thought as she leapt, dodged and ran back and forth across the room, evading trapdoors and dancing out the way of the spotlights. Eventually, she made it to the other side.

"Is there anything about the next room I should know about?" There was no way she was taking any more chances if she could help it.

"Nothing you can't handle," Tseng replied. Rosalind frowned. That wasn't really an answer. Before she could reply, he said, "As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure if that's been installed yet. I guess there's only one way to find out."

Rosalind hung up, biting on the inside of her cheek to stop herself saying something regrettable. This was the man who countersigned her paycheques, after all, and she did like Tseng. It wasn't his fault that things were falling apart the way they were. Repeating all this to herself, she entered the next room.

As it had when she had entered other rooms, upon entering this one, the door to the previous room hissed shut. She sighed. Pretty soon, she'd find out what she was up against.

"Intruder detected. Commencing scan operation."

Now what?

A thin beam of red light made its way slowly across the room, from left to right. Rosalind stood stock still, unsure of just what to expect. As it passed over her body, the disembodied female voice spoke.

"Scan 20 percent complete. Scan 40 percent complete."

What was the system scanning for? The fact that it was counting up meant that something would happen when it reached 100. Rosalind tensed.

"Scan 80 percent complete. Scan 99 percent complete. Scan complete. Commencing data transfer to materia. Data received by materia."

Data transfer to a materia? Somewhere in the back of her mind, a warning bell went off. She'd heard of something like this… it had been years ago… could it possibly be…?!

There was a set of six foot glass capsules in the room that Rosalind hadn't really looked at when she'd come in. One of them now hissed, white steam pouring from it. Another, separate hissing noise accompanied by mechanical beeping and whirring sounds filled her ears. Blinking, Rosalind watched as a humanoid form walked uncertainly out from the capsule. It rippled and shimmered, changing form before her very eyes. It turned into –

"Me?!"

Rosalind stood, mouth agape, staring at herself. Her twin – the clone – was the same height, same build, and had the same green eyes, which were staring right back at her. Even the way her twin held herself was uncannily familiar. Rosalind felt a chill run down her spine. So this was the rumoured materia – the Copy Materia. It had been a theoretical application in a textbook when she'd been at school. To think Shin-Ra had actually perfected one…

"Intruder detected. Elimination subroutine activated," the copy said in a monotone voice. Rosalind shuddered. For all that the clone looked and sounded like her, it was all technical. There was nothing human about her – it. She raised her gun. Her copy did the same.

Rosalind dodged as her counterpart fired a bullet, diving low to the ground and taking aim at the clone's legs. Maybe it was just a copy, but she hadn't the heart – or the nerve, if she was going to be honest with herself – to aim for the head or anywhere vital. The clone stumbled as the bullet lodged in her leg – then, to Rosalind's horror – the wound closed up, absorbing the bullet. "That didn't work?" she whispered.

She thought feverishly, trying to remember what had been in her textbook. The cloning system used a special Copy materia. Normally the magic used by itself would enable the person who had cast the copy spell to create a temporary clone that mimicked its actions in battle – essentially the enemy would have to fight two people at once, and the copy itself would be invulnerable to attack. The biggest disadvantage lay in the fact that because it was a clone, it would do everything that you did.

Clearly that wasn't the case here. After all, the clone hadn't mimicked her, and it was moving seemly of its own volition. Even now, as Rosalind watched, her clone lined up another shot, expression blank. What was moving it?

Her eyes darted around the room. There were no control panels or other obvious mechanisms that she could see. Breaking it probably wouldn't do a thing anyway, as the power source that had collected the data for the clone and the clone itself were two separate things. Rosalind glared.

"Think. Come on… what's powering the clone?"

There had to be an inner core, a processing unit of some sort. Rosalind eyed the clone. The most obvious places would be in the torso or the head. She tried those in succession. No luck. Blowing an exasperated breath through clenched teeth, she rolled as her copy took another shot. This time she felt air displaced in the vicinity of her right ear. If she didn't know better, she'd swear her machine's accuracy was going up every time.

As the fight went on, Rosalind trying to pinpoint the clone's weak spot, her fears panned out; it seemed that the Shin-Ra developers had somehow stabilised the copy magic and fused it with some pretty advanced technology. Not only was the clone unharmed for the most part, it was picking up on Rosalind's actions and thinking for itself the best way to cut her off – it had an AI, and it was getting more precise with each altercation.

The next shot the clone took hit its mark. Rosalind hissed as hot metal grazed her cheek. She could feel the flesh open up, warm blood spill out and drip onto her collar. The situation was the worst she'd been in yet. It was worse than being choked to death by AVALANCHE operatives; it was worse than being blasted by Fuhito; it was worse than the terrorizing helplessness she had felt as President Shinra had been attacked before her eyes. Now she faced extinction not from another human being but a machine – a _copy_ of herself. Rosalind laughed.

Her side hurt from her earlier fight. She was running out of bullets. She hadn't done any significant damage to her so-called twin. She had some supplies, but those were dwindling. She was getting tired out, and unlike a human opponent, the clone didn't have that same problem. She wanted to cry out in frustration. She wished Reno or somebody else was here. They would probably know what to do.

That thought brought her up short. No. Wasn't that her problem? She relied on tried and true solutions, and when they didn't pan out, she immediately got frustrated. There wasn't anything stopping her from beating this thing but her own self-imposed limitations.

With a deep breath, she stood up, straightening her back, looking at the clone, eye-to-eye. She was a Turk. She had graduated top of her class at the academy. She was not going to lose to some automaton. She would beat this thing and move on, because that's what Turks did. No matter how impossible the odds, they came out on top.

The clone raised its arm. Rosalind did the same. For a brief second, their eyes met. Rosalind smiled. Taking another deep breath, she gathered her energy from within. She could do this.

She rolled out of the way of the next bullet that came her way, smirking slightly. Before the clone could get a chance to make its next move, she was back on her feet and running.

Whatever had been going through her twin's cybernetic mind, she couldn't possibly have calculated this. With a wrench she was taken off her feet as Rosalind threw herself bodily at her. Using momentum and all the power and weight she could muster out of all of her 5 feet 3 inches she shoved hard at the clone, throwing her onto the ground. The clone looked up at her blankly, not even blinking as her head bounced off the ground like a rubber ball. Rosalind wrenched the weapon from her opponent, tossing it away from her. She heard a clatter that sounded as if it was echoing from somewhere beyond the confines of the room. Focussing all her attention on her clone, she yelled out the Lightning spell.

The pain as the bolts of electricity seared her body made her scream. Her vision blanked, but she held onto consciousness viciously; she couldn't afford to faint here. Passing out meant death, and she hadn't gambled everything she had only to roll up snake eyes.

Beneath her, her clone was staring. Rosalind scrambled up, willing her body to move. Her limbs were out of sync with her thoughts, trembling and jerking. Numbly, Rosalind realized that the lightning had impaired her motor functions. She fell on top of her opponent.

She expected the clone to hold on, to grapple with her, to have a knock down, dirty, drag 'em down fight – but it didn't happen. The two of them lay there, one on top of the other. There was a hissing noise. The door. She'd passed. All the tension that had been holding her up snapped, and as the energy drained from her, Rosalind started to laugh. Weakly, painfully, her laughter not much more than a choked syncopation of breaths exhaled, she laughed.

_To be continued… _


	18. The Mystery Helper

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ They don't belong to me. I'm only borrowing 'em.

* * *

**Chapter 18: The Mystery Helper**

St. Andrew's fight with the operatives should have left him exhausted by all rights. Taking on dozens of men, even with the help of the Junon constabulary, was like running a marathon in a three second burst. He'd used all the brute strength and magic he had, and while he took hits, he could swear that with each man he brought down, he was getting higher and higher. It was like he'd zapped himself with his EMR. He hadn't felt this alive since scrapping with rival gangs back in his heyday. That part of himself that he'd locked away when he'd signed the contract and donned the suit came rushing back in a euphoric jolt, enlivening his senses, pushing his reflexes up, bringing him to _life_. When it was over (and it was over far too soon), St. Andrew was grinning. That had felt _good_.

Now though, he had to get to the branch office. Leaving the guardsmen to clean up, he sprinted up the last stretch of staircase and came out into the upper part of the city. Looking around to get his bearings, he headed off. Up here he didn't run into as much resistance, something which disappointed him. He could feel the adrenaline in his system winding down, and that gave him the opportunity to think.

Just how big was the AVALANCHE presence here? How had a group grown this large seemingly overnight? How had the boys missed something like this? None of it was making sense to St. Andrew, and it made him irritable.

When he reached the branch office, he ran up the stairs to the president's suite, arriving just in time to see paramedics lifting the prone head of the Shin-Ra Company onto a stretcher. St. Andrew looked up and nearly jumped when he saw Veld staring at him from a giant video screen.

"Good, you're here. Did you rout the terrorists?"

"Yeah," St. Andrew replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. He watched as the paramedics hooked President Shinra up to a mobile transfusion unit. While two of them did that, another team was packing up, and yet another team was opening the doors wider so the stretcher could get through. All that security and AVALANCHE had still managed to break through and hit them where it really hurt. It rankled. Gritting his teeth, St. Andrew continued with his report.

"There were a lot of them. The thing that gets to me is that they kept hidden for so long so well. I talked with my old gang. They had no idea any of this'd been going on."

"I see." Veld's face was inscrutable, but there was nevertheless an undertone to his voice that impressed upon St. Andrew just how bad the situation was. He sat up straighter. "Never mind that for now. I want you to go with President Shinra back to Midgar. He'll need security. Are you all right with that?"

"Yeah." St. Andrew looked over once more at the last of the medic team. "I'll go right now."

"Report in to me when you arrive," Veld said. "We'll have gathered enough information by then and we can work out a plan of action." The Turk commander smiled thinly. "One that doesn't involve just reaction."

St. Andrew nodded. "Roger that."

-----

When she'd regained her motor functions and her composure, Rosalind had reported to Tseng who had told her that the room she wanted was not far off now. Getting up gingerly, she looked at the clone, which had phased back into a neutral, humanoid form. It looked like a crash test dummy, only without features or any other markings. Now that the copy magic had short circuited, she could see the damage she'd done it clearly. The flesh hadn't absorbed the bullets at all – it had only looked as if it had. Another illusion then, designed to discourage the enemy into thinking they were fighting an invincible adversary. The casing of the clone had been tough enough to withstand nearly every attack she threw at it. Her eyes flickered to the sole of the dummy's left foot where a particularly nasty burn mark was evident. Acrid smoke steamed from the dummy. Rosalind shook her head. To think that the core had been in its heel.

"The most advanced technology in the world, huh." Rosalind murmured. She ran a hand through her hair.

"Okay, what's next?" The chaos of the battle had left her unnerved. The sound of her voice reassured her somehow, grounded her to reality. Rolling her shoulders to get some swing back into them, she eyed the open door in front of her. She was almost to the control room. After giving the damaged clone one more look she headed off, her resolve refreshed.

According to the map on her PHS, there was a short L-shaped corridor and before that, another door which would lead to a large room, and then the control room. Nodding to herself, she made her way forward.

Just as she was about to make the turn in the bend, she stopped. There were muted whispers coming from around there. Carefully, she hefted her gun in one hand and listened.

"The preparations for the firing of the mako cannon have been completed," a voice asserted. "This is Midgar's last day."

There was a satisfied snicker from the other. "We've waited a long time for this day. Bye bye, Midgar."

The casualness of their intent angered Rosalind. She whipped around the corner weapon drawn. "That's as far as you're all getting," she snapped.

There were three of them. They seemed to be having a hard time believing she'd made it this far. She hissed angrily, the sound cutting through their vocalized disbelief. They fell silent, watching her, appraising her. Finally, one of the men sneered.

"How are you going to fight all of us by yourself? It looks like you came all the way down here for nothing." He snickered. So it had been him who had casually laughed at Midgar's destruction. Rosalind's eyes narrowed. _Like hell_, she snarled in her mind.

Two of the operatives she dispatched quickly. The last one – the gloater – she took special care with. While the other two had received quick and painless shots to the head, an instant death, she'd shot the gloater in the stomach. He gurgled, sinking to his knees, hands convulsively twitching, trying to stem the flow of blood. Rosalind watched him with a cold fury.

"Y-You bitch," he stammered. He coughed violently, spitting up globs of blood. The coughing probably wasn't helping to stop the damage, either. Good. Let him suffer.

"Gunshot wounds to the stomach are the slowest and most painful ways you can die," she said, her voice sounding as if it were coming from outside herself. "Enjoy it." She watched him for a few more seconds. He had fallen onto his side now. There was a growing red pool spilling freely out, covering his hands despite his vain efforts to stop the bleeding. He wasn't moving as much now. Turning on her heel she left him to suffer his last moments alone.

The PHS rang. Rosalind picked up. She held the phone away from her ear as Tseng's voice shouted down the line.

"We're in big trouble. The cannon's override switch has been activated."

It felt as if something cold and hard had fallen straight from her chest down to her stomach. Gripping the PHS tightly she whispered "What can I do?" Midgar… Her mother and father… her family…

"Get to the control room and shut down the override!"

Right. She couldn't panic now. She had a job to do. Swallowing the sickly fear burning in her throat she asked how long there was until the cannon fired.

"One minute," Tseng replied. "The control room is up ahead. Hurry!"

Rosalind ran, her breath coming out in harsh gasps. She didn't have much time. Thoughts flashed in her mind, each one shocking her, spurring her on despite the growing stitch in her side. The small grey brick building she'd grown up in; her sense of awe at seeing the upper world for the first time, all lights and strange smells that she couldn't equate with the slums – as different as sky was from earth; smells of paint from her mother's renovation project; her friends from the military school; her sister and her brother. Blindly she ran, her vision wavering, a wash of dizziness threatening to overwhelm her. _Please, let me make it -!_

She burst through a set of double doors into a darkened room. Rosalind stopped, gasping for breath, nearly slumped over double, her eyes closed. She wondered how much more time she had left.

There was a hum and a clapping noise, and suddenly the room was flooded with light. At that moment, Rosalind opened her eyes.

She didn't know whether to gasp or retch. It was horrible. Bodies of AVALANCHE operatives were everywhere, all of them dead. On trembling legs, all thoughts of the countdown leaving her, she approached one of the mutilated bodies. Bending down, she sank onto her knees instead, her mind so caught up in surprise and revulsion that she didn't register the sharp pain in her knees as they met the cold metal floor. With a shaking hand, she reached out to the body.

_Terrible._ The word bubbled up inside her mind, until it was repeated again and again. Terrible. What could have done this? She withdrew her hand, glancing at another body nearby. It too had been slashed. That particular body had been more gruesomely disfigured; what she was looking at was a torso. She couldn't immediately see the victim's lower body, nor did she want to know. She could smell blood and gore and death and it made her sick. She hadn't signed up for stuff like this. Gunshot wounds she could take. Seeing pure malevolent carnage like this – it unsettled her.

Getting up shakily, she looked around. There were long gouge marks along the floor and walls of the room too. She followed one mark across the floor. It continued across yet another body of a fallen operative, then extended up the wall in an arc. It was as if someone had swung a scythe carelessly and mown these people down without giving thought to damage of either people or objects. The careless and seemingly easy way in which this had been done made her stomach lurch.

Her eyes settled on the entrance to the control room. Someone – or something – was probably in there. Would she be cut to ribbons too? She swallowed. _I don't have any choice but to go_, she thought. A fleeting thought – how she didn't really want to do this anymore – entered her head. Taking a step forward, then another, she soon found herself before the door. With a hand that was visibly shaking, she pressed at the panel. The door slid open.

What she saw surprised her. The control room was a small space occupied mostly by panels without even benefit of a chair for the control room monitor. Everything appeared to be normal. Stopping in front of the panel she would need to access, she blinked, disbelieving. But Tseng had told her…

Her PHS rang. Still somewhat dazed, Rosalind picked up. It was Tseng.

"Good job, Rosalind," he said. He sounded relieved and proud, like a father who'd watched his child get through a piano recital without incident. Rosalind blinked again, trying to make sense of the whole situation. She felt overwhelmed. She made a feeble noise of incomprehension. What was he talking about?

"You stopped the cannon, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about? I just got into the control room now." Rosalind looked around, still feeling as if everything wasn't really there, as if she was living in some sort of surrealistic place where nothing was quite as it seemed. She attempted to bring some common sense into the proceedings. "I'm about to stop the cannon from here."

At her words, Tseng's voice turned to concern. If she hadn't shut down the cannon, then who had? Rosalind shook her head. She didn't know anything. What was going on here? She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

"I do have something to report, though." She said each word slowly, carefully, so that they would make sense to her. Trying to grasp everything, she explained to him about the bodies and the room she'd left behind, everything slashed up. She didn't notice that Tseng had gone quiet on his side of the line, so caught up was she with trying to piece together everything that had happened. "Only someone with a lot of power could have done that," she concluded at last. That was just it. There had been no security robots, no hidden programs. What had done that to those men?

There were some moments of silence; Tseng acknowledged her report. After getting her to check to make sure the security override was in place he told her to get to the Junon airport. They would all be heading back for Midgar. Apparently Rafe and Samantha had found some promising leads on AVALANCHE.

After hanging up, Rosalind checked the panel. No. Someone had definitely set the override in place and left. But who? Rosalind frowned, trying to puzzle it all out. Then she heard a voice behind her.

"You did this."

Rosalind whirled around. A woman was coming through the doors from the room where the slaughtered AVALANCHE operatives were. She was taller than Rosalind herself, of medium build. She had short brown hair and wore garb that wasn't native to Midgar or Junon. In her hand she carried a sword. In the woman's eyes was murder – and she was directing her gaze right at Rosalind.

"AVALANCHE!" Rosalind gasped. Then she paused. Wait. She was AVALANCHE… "…right?"

The expression on the woman's face didn't change. "That's right." She hefted her sword up, her advance not slowing. The room wasn't big at all. Within moments she'd be where Rosalind was – sooner in fact, with that sword advancing in front of her.

"I'll have your head for what you did to my comrades!" the woman shouted. She raised her weapon.

The fight was by any standard a bad one. Rosalind had never been this quickly and thoroughly beaten down, not even by that bastard who had choked her, or Fuhito, or Shears. None of her attacks were hitting this woman, who seemed to be protected by some sort of barrier. The woman made no sudden movements, merely following Rosalind as she tried to scramble futilely out of the way and swinging out with her sword. A white hot pain blossomed in Rosalind's thigh and she gasped, nearly collapsing. Limping now, she got to the end of room and pressed the panel quickly to escape. The woman moved again at her stately, inevitable pace, sword aloft. Her face was stony, and it seemed she had every intention of taking her time with Rosalind's execution.

_She's toying with me_, Rosalind thought hysterically, limping out of the security complex. The woman followed not far behind. _Why doesn't she get it over with? Instead she's just taking these little chunks out of me._ The deliberateness of the woman's actions chilled her. She didn't appear to be angry, or even insane. There was just something really methodical and cold about her.

Eventually their protracted game of cat and mouse came to an end when Rosalind reached the dock. There was nowhere left for her to run – or limp – to. The sun was setting, a beautiful grapefruit orange against streaks of violet darkening into royal blue in the distance. Rosalind didn't notice any of this. She turned her head and saw the woman approaching, still at that measured pace. She had only two options here – no three. She could jump into the ocean. She dismissed that thought immediately. She could fight here and be killed. Or she could give up and be killed anyway. She could have laughed for crying. Those were all horrible choices.

"A fitting end for someone like you," the woman said, her voice dispassionate. She raised her sword once more. "Down with the Shin-Ra!" Finely honed metal bore down on her. Rosalind shut her eyes.

There was a clang, and the sound of metal scraping against metal. Rosalind's eyes flew open.

"That's as far as you go," another voice, this one male, said coolly. Rosalind looked up – and gasped.

The woman seemed just as startled, her face finally giving way to some other expression besides calmly determined murder. "It can't be," she murmured, her lips barely moving. "You're –"

Her opponent – a tall, silver-haired man in black leather armour and a wicked looking long sword swung his blade back and brought it down again. Rosalind shut her eyes again, crouching as a roaring filled her ears and debris flew everywhere. Some of it hit her, and she winced.

When she'd opened her eyes again she saw that the woman was still standing her ground, unharmed. In a wide circle around where she stood was a depressed area of ground, like a crater. Rosalind's eyes widened. The energy of the attack had rebounded harmlessly off of her, damaging her surroundings instead.

But while the woman was unharmed, she was clearly struggling. Rosalind could see her jaw muscles working as she gritted her teeth, her sword arm struggling to hold back her opponent's blade. She used her other arm to brace herself. "So it is you…" she gritted out. She leapt back, twisting her blade to get out of harm's way.

"'The Silver-haired Soldier'. Sephiroth."

No way. Rosalind gaped. This man was – But it made sense, now that she thought about it. There was that trademark sword she'd heard so much about. Plus the silver hair – how could she have missed that? He was so much more – she paused, scrambling for a descriptor – _impressive_ than the legends said. He was speaking now. Rosalind brought her attention back to her immediate situation.

"I am Elfé," the woman declared, presumably in response to Sephiroth's question. "The leader of AVALANCHE."

Wait. The leader was a _woman_?! This person was AVALANCHE's _leader_? Again Rosalind reeled. This was too much.

Elfé was pointing her weapon at Sephiroth. There was none of that dispassionate ice in her expression now. She seemed alive, crackling with an energy Rosalind couldn't really place. "Sephiroth." Again, she spoke, the general's name on her lips like a declaration. "Why do you fight?" When it seemed as if Sephiroth would give no answer, she spoke once more.

"We fight in the name of a just cause. By retreating today we are victorious." With that, she swept her cape around herself and strode off, seemingly unconcerned about the general's presence, and with finishing Rosalind off.

A surge of panic swept through Rosalind. Was that it? It was over? Where was she going? Why wasn't Sephiroth doing anything to stop her? Her musings were interrupted by his voice.

"You there."

Her head jerked up.

"I sense an exceptional energy coming from her. Tell your superiors not to take her lightly." And with those words, Sephiroth too departed. Before he left, she thought she could hear him muttering under his breath the words the AVALANCHE leader had thrown at him.

"…a just cause…"

-----

The mood in Turks headquarters, if not grim, was quite serious. All of them – Veld, Tseng, Rude, Reno, St. Andrew, Samantha, Rafe and Rosalind herself – sat around a conference table, listening to Veld tally up the situation so far: They'd saved the President and Midgar. On the negative side, the AVALANCHE threat was still there, and Shin-Ra didn't have the manpower to deal with them as they currently stood.

"President Shin-Ra has given us new orders," Veld said, moving onto the next item on the agenda. "Given the information we've been able to uncover –" He nodded briefly at Samantha and Rafe, "We are looking at numbers in the thousands. What started off as a small group dedicated to the studies of planet life has become a resistance organization with global reach. They go under different names. While most of their affiliates are harmless in and of themselves, they are being used as recruitment centres for more operatives. Either way we look at it, subjective sympathies lie with these groups, which naturally doesn't bode well for Shin-Ra. That is why the President has decided to nip the problem at its root.

"This is what you're going to do. I will be splitting you up into several teams. President Shinra has given the routing out and disposal of AVALANCHE high priority. While we are integral to these actions, he has entrusted the majority of work to SOLDIER."

All around the table silently acknowledged this. The Turks were more of a specialized corps. SOLDIER would be better suited to the large scale action that the President was planning.

"The issue, as I have said" Veld said, "is manpower. There aren't enough SOLDIERs to deal effectively with the AVALANCHE threat. I want you to go find candidates for SOLDIER membership. Bring back as many as you can – the more candidates the better."

Rosalind shifted in her seat. Something about the way he said it wasn't sitting right with her. It was Samantha that brought it up. She had been drumming her fingers on the desk, her face thoughtful. Finally, she looked up, eyeing Veld squarely.

"How are we going to find these candidates, sir? I get the feeling this isn't just a recruitment drive."

Veld smiled thinly. "You're right. It's not. We get applicants for entry into SOLDIER, but very few make it for various reasons. We still need to get our men from somewhere. In that case, we go out and find suitable candidates – regardless of whether they applied or not."

From Rosalind's left side, St. Andrew made a hissing noise, sucking air through his teeth. Rosalind herself stared at her hand on the tabletop. So this was one of Shin-Ra's industrial secrets. She blinked in recollection at the rumours. Not everyone joined Shin-Ra because they wanted to…

Veld finished explaining the mission parameters: they would be split into small teams and dispatched around the world. They would have a timetable of six weeks to gather all the candidates together. This was Shin-Ra's response to the AVALANCHE threat. Force with force. The war had begun. From here on out things would get increasingly difficult. There was no stepping back from the edge now.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ Thanks to hikarisan and TheDreamChild for their suggestions on what to do about story length. A lot of the chapters were snippets, which worked well in the beginning of the story, but don't really cut it anymore. I've started to stitch together chapters to shorten things up and make the flow easier to follow.

I'll be changing POV from the next chapter on. :) It's time to give Rosalind a break and let someone else take the lead for a while. See you on the other side!


	19. Costa del Sol

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ Esme Weatherwax aten't dead and Before Crisis aten't mine.

* * *

**Chapter 19: Costa del Sol**

Samantha had visited Costa del Sol many times before with her family, on vacations or business trips. Here in Costa, the sun always shone, the waves providing a refreshing backdrop day or night to one's activities. The sun kissed brown bodies of beautiful people at work and play; the laughter of families, lovers and music from the steel drums and bands that set up impromptu concerts on the beach – they were as much a part of Costa as snow was on the Icicle continent.

Of course, this only applied to the beach and the immediate environs. Outside the central resort area, things were different. The closely clustered hotels and beach villas gave way to suburbs, and then to increasingly dilapidated shanty towns. Samantha had never been that far out – she had never, properly speaking, even been to the suburbs where most of the local residents lived. Her parents had taken up a villa house close enough to the beach that she could enjoy its splendours whenever she pleased, but far enough out of the way that gaggles of tourists weren't drunkenly carousing just outside their front door.

It was too bad Samantha reflected, tossing her hair over her shoulder, that she couldn't stop there or even work on a tan. Instead she was clad in a stifling black suit that trapped heat, making her feel as if she were wearing some sort of death shroud, trying to look inconspicuous whilst holding a weapon that was by no means compact and certainly not something the beach goddesses would ever dream of carrying. The whole experience was awkward, and the only blessing out of the whole thing to Samantha was that she was actually outside of the tourist area and closer to those suburbs and shanties her parents had made off-limits to her when she was younger.

After having walked for twenty minutes, she found herself in a residential area filled left and right with whitewashed buildings with reddish-orange slated tiles. At the end of the street, she spotted the place she was looking for. It would have been indistinguishable from the other houses in the area if it hadn't been for the big, burly bouncer standing at the entrance with his arms crossed.

"So this is Club Duel," she murmured to herself. One of the best fighter's clubs in the area, Club Duel was known for the crudity and no holds barred fighting style of its patrons. Rude had told her as much, anyway; he had spent some time in his younger days training himself up here.

Hefting the weight of her shotgun in her hands, Samantha approached the entrance. The bouncer stepped forward.

"Hey, you can't just waltz in here," he said, sneering down at her. His eyes took her in, his suggestive expression tempered slightly when he saw the big gun in her hands. He took another step forward, this time slightly cautious owing to her firepower. Samantha smiled winningly.

"I just wanted to take a look. Can't I? Just for a few minutes?"

He eyed her more carefully this time, something in his mental appraisal telling him that there was something about this woman that was the slightest bit off. Samantha upped the voltage. Stepping forward, she lowered the weapon, tilting her head just so and lowering her voice for effect.

"Please?"

"Well…" He sounded unsure of himself now. Samantha took the advantage.

"Thank you," she said, smiling brightly, trotting past him.

The inside of Club Duel was like a barn. Samantha wrinkled her nose. It certainly smelled like one. She was almost surprised that there weren't hay bales and chocobos in here.

The interior of Club Duel had once been a private residence. After its acquisition by the club's owners, the walls had been knocked down so that the club was essentially one big hall with packed dirt on the floor and reinforced walls. The majority of the patrons crowded around the walls. They'd cleared a space in the centre of the room for two fighters, who were scrapping with each other viciously, punching and kicking in rhythm to the chanting that seemed to make the whole place shake.

"King! King! King!"

Samantha worked her way through the crowds, who in any case were too caught up in the fight to pay her much heed.

There were two men in the centre of the impromptu ring. One was a hulking thing the size of a Behemoth, the other a shorter, wiry man who moved quickly and put in punches in quick one-two successive jabs before darting away again. It would have been a neat strategy, if it wasn't for the fact that the bigger man didn't seem in the least affected. On the next go round, the larger man grabbed the other guy by the scruff of his neck and – Samantha winced – pile drove him into the hard packed dirt floor. He then picked him up and kicked him hard into the wall. She heard something snap. The smaller man lay on the ground, unmoving.

"Way to go King!" an onlooker shouted. The cheers grew louder. From seemingly out of nowhere the sounds of cans of beer being opened and thick mugs clinking filled the room. Suddenly the smell of sweat and dirt was shot through with stout. Samantha wrinkled her nose. _Why _had Rude sent her out here again?

_"I want a challenge," Samantha declared, leaning against the railing of the cargo ship they had been travelling on for the past couple of days. They'd just come from a scouting trip on a string of islands north of the Corel area. Recruitment had been easy – a little too easy, in her opinion. There had been little resistance, and Samantha, who had been excited at the prospect of a real mission after doing nothing but patrols and paperwork for weeks, was disappointed. This wasn't what she had joined the Turks for. If she wanted to do paperwork, she could have interned at one of Daddy's companies. _

_Rude remained silent. He was staring out at the seas which rolled forward before curling back, a stately dance that had been ongoing the entire journey out. Reno was downstairs with the candidates, getting them to, as the redhead had put it, "Calm the fuck down." It was too bad he wasn't here, because he would have been easier to talk to. As it was, talking to Rude was like talking to a solid wall. She blew out a breath, making her bangs lift up somewhat listlessly. She glared. The heat was wreaking havoc on her. She couldn't wait to get back to Midgar; she'd live in her bathtub for a week after this._

_Irritably, she placed her hands on her hips, prepared to march over to the larger man and grab him by the shoulder – not a smart move, but then, she really was irritated. She was surprised when he turned back to stare at her. At least, she assumed he was looking at her. It was hard to tell, since he always wore those sunglasses of his, even indoors. _

_"We'll arrive in Costa del Sol tomorrow morning," he said. _

_What the hell did that have to do with wanting a more challenging mission? Samantha opened her mouth, but Rude held up his hand. She snapped her mouth shut. _

_"You want a challenge?"_

_"Yes, of course I do." She raised her eyebrows. "Are you saying Costa will be challenging?"_

_Rude's mouth quirked in something that may have been a smile. He shrugged. Samantha frowned. That wasn't much of an answer. He turned back to stare at the sea._

_"You'll get your assignment when we dock," he said. And that was the end of their conversation. _

Samantha shook herself out of remembrance. Okay, so this King guy was a challenge. He looked as if he could fell an ox, or grapple with a pen of Tonberries no problem. _Challenge accepted_, she shot at Rude in her mind, smirking.

Just as she was preparing to step into the ring, someone got in her way.

It was the enforcer she'd slipped past at the entrance "Hey, you can't just go in there. You know what kind of place this is?" He stepped up to her, invading her space, chest thrust out, beefy arms crossed. A few of the spectators who had been watching King's duel turned to look at them. Samantha found herself unaccountably in the spotlight. Her spine straightened.

"Of course I do," she said in her archest voice. "Why else would I be here? Now if you don't mind, I have work to do. Get out of my way."

She shoved her shotgun into his midsection and squeezed the trigger. With an "oomph" noise, the man sank onto his knees and went down. She'd had special tranquilizer capsules loaded in place of her standard bullets. She wanted as many candidates as possible alive and unharmed, after all.

The crowed moved out of her way, unsure what she'd just hit the guy with and not wanting to suffer the same fate. There were murmurs and an angry buzzing noise, like that of bees swarming about a hive under attack. Samantha ignored all this, stepping into the centre to stand across from the man who called himself King.

King himself seemed amused. He threw back his head and laughed. "Finally, a challenge," he roared. He thumped his chest. Samantha sneered inside her mind. So like a caveman. _Honestly_. _What _is_ he trying to prove?_

"You're King," she said by way of greeting. She knew who he was. She'd only heard his name roared up to the rafters, after all. Still, it never hurt to acknowledge one with whom one was speaking to.

"That's right." King swaggered forward. Samantha couldn't tell if he was trying to impress or intimidate her. Probably a little of both. "I'm King. The strongest person in this club is called that, and I've been called that for a long time now. Who are you?"

Samantha smiled sweetly, shrugging a shoulder. "That's going to have to be a secret."

King chuckled. "What do you want?" He grinned at her. "A fight? Maybe a little glory? Maybe some companionship…?" He let the last words trail off tellingly. The crowd roared with laughter. _Oh really, now. When I get back to the ship, I'm going to give Rude such a piece of my mind… _

It was time to end the volley of not-so-witty repartee. She adjusted her weapon so that it rested in the crook of one arm. Still smiling pleasantly, she swept her free arm around her to encompass the entire room. "Gentlemen," she said grandly. "You're all going to come with me –" She paused theatrically. She'd always loved the grand gestures. "– as SOLDIER candidates."

**-----**

It had been a little over four hours since they'd docked in Costa del Sol and started their recruitment drive. The resort town was their last stop before heading back to Midgar. It had been a long six weeks, Rude reflected, and the fruit of their work would be little – not everybody made it past the candidate stage and into SOLDIER proper.

Reno had returned about an hour ago. The redhead was puttering around the ship, practicing movements with his EMR. Rude watched his long-time partner spar with an invisible enemy. He was ferocious; he was fast; he was also fluid. He could knock just about anybody on their ass with the careless grace of a drunken prima ballerina. The idea of Reno in a tutu made Rude's mouth twitch, but he kept this thought, like many others, to himself.

Checking his watch surreptitiously, Rude frowned. He glanced up at the sky. The sun, bright and unrelenting in the ever-blue Costa sky was dimmed down several shades thanks to his sunglasses. The orb's position in the sky only confirmed what his watch had, and his frown deepened.

At length, Reno stopped sparring with his invisible enemy to glance at the sky, then at his partner. "It's late," he muttered, collapsing his EMR into a compact form and stowing it away.

When Rude didn't answer, Reno picked up the conversation, filling in the gaps he was sure his partner would have were he a more vocal person. "We're finished here, huh. We've sure rounded up a lot of people."

At this Rude nodded. The numbers of people gathered in the islands and Costa meant that the holds down below were bulging with men – well, mostly men – who would be taken to Midgar. He wondered how many more the rookie would bring. "We're just waiting on Samantha," he said in reply.

Reno nodded, leaning against a pillar. He shoved his hands into his pockets and squinted up at the sky, eyes lazily tracing a gull as it made a circle in the air. "They're a rough bunch of goons." They both knew what he was referring to. Club Duel wasn't the sort of place one normally sent a rookie – or a female, for that matter. It concerned the both of them, but neither of them was going to admit it. They were Turks, after all.

"…it's our job," Rude said at last, adjusting his shades so that they covered his eyes completely. "If she can't handle that, then she's not fit to be a Turk."

Nothing more needed to be said, but Reno nodded anyway, his demeanour suddenly becoming more affable, less reflective. "Yeah." He grinned. "Just a day in the life of your average Turk."

A companionable silence fell over them for several moments. Rude took the time to glance at his watch again. He shifted. "How are the SOLDIER candidates?"

The redhead waved a lazy hand, as if to say it wasn't a problem. "They've finally settled down – for now. Who knows when they'll try something again, though?" He pushed himself up off the pillar, lanky form slouching slightly, as if the pillar had been holding him up, and now without it, he would fold in on himself. "Let's go back as soon as we can, eh?"

Rude nodded with a smile. "To the bar?"

"You know it." Reno laughed.

"We'll leave as soon as Samantha gets back," Rude said. Again they lapsed into silence. There hadn't been much to say, but suddenly the air seemed lighter, and Rude found that he could relax a little.

"What are the others doing?" he asked. Reno raised his eyebrows, but shrugged. "I've heard from the other team. They're in Bone Village – or were, the last time I talked to them. They'll be coming back into Midgar today."

Rude shook his head. So they were the last team to return. As if reading his mind, Reno sighed.

"We're losing it, Rude. Damn, we'd better have caught a good haul out here to make up for being late."

"Don't worry," Rude said. "Club Duel's patrons will more than make up for it."

Reno made a "huh" sound, and shrugging, reached into his pocket and fished out a cigarette. Offering the packet to the other man, he shrugged when Rude refused, and lit the cylinder in his hand. Rude settled back against the ship's railing, head turned ever so slightly in the direction of the resort town.

So they were back at square one. Waiting for Samantha.

-----

Club Duel was dead silent. Samantha's declaration had rung against the rafters and knocked about between the ears of every patron in the building. The silence lasted a good ten seconds before voices started up again, angry buzzing and derision oozing from every corner.

King hadn't moved since she'd spoken. He was watching her, as if trying to decide whether she'd made her statement seriously. Finally, he chuckled, a sound which roused other members, for they started laughing too.

"Come with you? As a SOLDIER candidate? You obviously know nothing about this place," he said quietly.

Behind her, Samantha could sense movement. The patrons were closing ranks around her. She straightened up, undoing the safety on her shotgun. Tossing her hair, she regarded King loftily. She felt strangely in her element all of a sudden. All one had to do was think of these guys as prey – and prey could sense authority. If she kept her chin up and acted like she owned them (and she soon would, she vowed) then any threat would be minimal.

"Of course I do. Tell your goons to back off. You're all coming with me whether you like it or not."

"And if I refuse?"

There were catcalls and threats in the air now. From behind her, there came an angry voice. Samantha turned around to face it.

"Bitch, who the fuck do you think you are? You think we're just gonna go quietly on your say so?" He spat at the ground between them. Raising his fists, he bared teeth. "Stupid broad, you're pissing me off! Let's go!"

He threw a punch. Samantha dodged, then let out a shriek as he delivered an uppercut to the chin and sent her sprawling into the hard packed dirt with a follow-up roundhouse sweep. As she made contact with the ground, the thug drove his fist down. She only just managed to roll away. The crowed roared with laughter, cheering the man on.

"Cretin," Samantha hissed lowly. More than anything, she hated being made to look a fool. "How dare you."

Behind her King guffawed, loud raucous bursts of laughter that grated on her nerves. Picking herself up off the ground, she dusted herself off before picking up her discarded weapon. Before her, the disgusting pig that had caught her off guard was looking down at her with an expression of smug satisfaction. He spat at her feet again. "Ain't so high and mighty now, are ya, Princess?" He mock bowed. More laughter filled the room.

"You got it now?" King said. Samantha looked at him from the corner of her eye, keeping most of her attention on her attacker. "There are rules in this place and they're simple. The strongest person in this club decides what the rules are, and I –" He stabbed his thumb into his chest twice, "-make up the fucking rules, your Majesty."

It always came down to brute force with these types. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. The more she thought about it, the more this place resembled the hunting grounds she'd spent much of her time in. The laws here were like those of the jungle. The stronger ruled over the weak. The cunning lived off the backs of the stupid. It was a law of nature, and this was something of which Samantha was well aware.

"Well then," she replied, smiling once more at King, as if she hadn't just been tossed on her bottom into the dirt, "this will be easy. I'll have you down from that throne and bowing to me in no time at all."

Her attacker burst into their conversation. "You, fight with King? Man, don't you know anything about this place?"

He swaggered up so that he was between her and King. "There's only one way you're gonna fight King. You've got to win battles – against the four strongest fighters here!" He grinned viciously. Samantha got the feeling he was including himself in the count of four strongest. She certainly hoped so. She had a debt to repay this – she sneered in her mind – man, after all, and it wouldn't do to let those kinds of things go unsettled.

"Fine." She tossed her head. "You're boring me with the long explanations, so why don't all four of you be good little boys and come at me at once?"

The man suddenly laughed, a sound that was, if possible, worse than King's snorting guffaws. "Shiva's cold tits in hell, you're a feisty bitch." He raised his fists. "No can do, Princess. You fight us one on one. Prepare to kiss the ground again. You're going down."

Inside her mind, a bell rang. Round one: fight. The space made by the spectators was about five metres across. There wasn't really all that much room to move around, but it wouldn't be a problem.

"Say, before we start, can I ask for a favour?"

The request, sweetly phrased and unexpected as it was, caught her opponent off guard.

"What?"

"Well, you see, my gun right now is loaded with sleep darts." She gestured to the man she'd incapacitated when she'd come in. "I don't want this fight to end as quickly as that." She tossed her head. "Personally, I'm going to enjoy making you grovel, but having you fall face down on me before I've even got started would be discouraging. Let me change my clip."

The man sneered. "What makes you think you can hit me anyway, even with your toy darts?"

"You might just have a point," she said. "Come to think of it, we didn't lay out any ground rules or handicaps, did we?" She turned to King, an eyebrow raised. "Are there any restrictions I should know about? I'm not going to lose a fight because your man's got an advantage I don't know about."

King laughed his unpleasant laugh. "You're smarter than you look," he said. "There are no rules. Handicaps are decided between fighters."

"I see." Samantha turned her attention back to the man before her. "I didn't get your name."

The man eyed her warily, fists still raised. "Vartan."

"Vartan, then. All I'm asking is for a way to enjoy the fight. I'd be using standard bullets – nothing dirty – just clean pain." She smiled wickedly. "You can fight any way you want. I'll even let you have the first strike. How about it?"

"Not good enough." Vartan jabbed a finger at her. "How do I know those darts aren't the only things you've got?"

"You don't." Samantha was getting bored already. Simple ruffians could only hold her attention for so long, after all. "Then again, what does it matter? All I'm asking for in essence is time, not a change in tactics. And as King's said, I don't need to discuss with you what else I'd be using. All you know is that I don't want to use my darts." Then, to rile him she added, "It doesn't matter what I use because in the end the result will be the same." She tossed her hair. "Like I said, I don't want it to be over before I've even got started. That's all."

The brute snorted. "You talk too much. Go ahead and change your fucking clip. Not like it'll make a difference."

"That's precisely what I mean," Samantha said, all graceful smiles again. Her change in behaviour seemed to annoy the man, and she revelled in this. Jab him in as many ways as possible – it may be petty, but oh, it felt good!

With everything finally settled, Samantha hefted her shotgun. "Okay. Come at me, big boy." She arched an eyebrow. "Try not to end this too quickly, okay? I like men that can provide me with a challenge."

The fight began. They started by circling each other. The crowd was cheering and hooting, but Samantha filtered everything out. Right now all that existed was this five metre space and her opponent. She watched him move. He was stealthy, his movements quite compact, without excess movement. His eyes stayed on her, cataloguing her every move, just as she was doing to him.

He did, as they had agreed, make the first move. It wasn't one she had been expecting, however. The man drove one large fist down onto the ground, causing the earth to shake – literally. As Samantha watched, wide-eyed, a ripple spread out from where the punch had landed, headed in a straight line for her.

A Grand Horn? A Capwire? They both had attacks similar to this one. She reacted instantaneously. "Shield!" She called.

An instant barrier came up around her, breaking the front of the attack harmlessly around her. Those in her vicinity were not so lucky, as they got the brunt of the deflected shockwave and a face full of debris for her effort. Wasting no time, Samantha squeezed the trigger.

Her shotgun was something quite special to her. It was a relatively old model, being a couple years old. While she normally stayed up to date on weapons, this one had been modified so that the barrel could be adjusted. Depending on the setting, she could shoot one bullet in a straightforward line, or she could shoot three in multiple directions. She had it currently set to the former position – she wasn't going to waste bullets or surprise when she didn't need it.

Aside from the customization, though, what she really liked about the gun was that it had a quick response time between shots. She used this to her advantage, firing off three shots. The first one made her opponent jump back to avoid getting his foot clipped. The second manoeuvred him into the wall of spectators. The third lodged itself into her opponent's shoulder.

To his credit, he didn't scream or give any other sign that he'd been shot aside from a stifled grunt. With his good arm, he instead drew a small pistol. Samantha raised her eyebrows. It seemed as if the stakes had risen. She smiled. Good. This was precisely what she wanted.

He once again took to circling, watching her for an opening. Samantha had to admit she was impressed. He wasn't getting emotional, resorting instead to calculation to fight her. Perhaps he wasn't quite the mindless brute she thought he was.

Vartan dove at her. Samantha stepped out of the way, turning her gun on him. From his dive, Vartan took aim with his own gun and squeezed the trigger. Samantha had less than a second to raise her shield again. The bullet ricocheted off the hastily erected barrier, lodging itself in the ceiling.

That moment of confusion was all her nemesis needed. He grabbed her by the ankle and yanked – hard. For the second time, Samantha found herself falling to the ground, landing none too gently on the hard ground. Her chin smashed against the ground and she tasted blood as her teeth bit into the flesh on the inside of her cheek. There came a triumphant yell above her. Instinct told Samantha to get out of the way, and she did, rolling in the dirt to the edge of the crowd. Ignoring the prodding of their boots, she immediately scrambled back up.

Vartan was straightening up again. She guessed he'd thrown a punch at her, though it was difficult to tell without having seen it. It was just as well.

Okay, it was time to re-evaluate her tactics. Using her shotgun in this small space wasn't doing her any good; defence certainly wasn't the best way to go either. As cliché as it was, it was true: she was going to have to go on the offensive to bring her nemesis down.

What did that leave her with? Quickly she catalogued her situation. Physically she was in no shape to take Vartan on. He moved far more quickly than she had thought he could, and given the confined area of the ring, that wasn't a good thing. She could fire off shots with her gun, but it wasn't as simple as taking aim and firing – there was the limited space to keep in mind, and if she wasn't careful, she was just as liable to end up killing him as incapacitating him.

So it came down to magic. She had her Shield materia. She had a couple of standard ones given to her when she'd first started with the Turks – Fire and Ice. They weren't much, but they would have to do.

Carefully putting her gun down, she made sure she had everything she would need. Vartan seemed to find this funny.

"Giving up already? Can't take a little hit?" He laughed. "I knew it. Have you chipped a nail?" The last bit he said in an exaggerated, high pitched voice, waving a hand effeminately and prancing. The spectators laughed. Samantha's eyes narrowed.

"Hardly," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm only getting started with you."

Vartan spread out his hands, eyes wide, his voice mocking. "Oh yeah? How you gonna do that? Last I counted, I knocked you on your pretty ass twice and you haven't touched –"

"I shot you," Samantha snapped. "And now I'm going to finish this. I'm sick of hearing you talk."

"Oooh, little princess is mad," Vartan said, stepping back, as if afraid. "Sorry, Your Highness. Please don't hurt me."

Samantha's eye twitched. A burst of flame ignited on his sleeve – small and contained, but certainly enough to get him to stop braying at her.

Vartan jumped. Smacking at his bicep, he hissed – he was using his bullet-injured arm to put out the flame. Samantha smirked.

"What the hell was that?!" He rounded on her, his mocking expression replaced by angry surprise.

"I told you, I'm sick of hearing your voice," Samantha said. "So just shut up and lose, already." Perhaps the remark hadn't been very genteel of her. She didn't care. Nobody – but _nobody _– made a fool of a Hartigan.

She focused on the Ice material in her possession. Its magic cast a cold trail across the floor, covering Vartan's feet in it. When he broke loose with an angry roar, she recovered the spot with ice, so he slipped. The sound he made as he fell was loud and dull – just like the man himself, Samantha thought nastily.

The next ice blast she called enveloped the man. The surprised look on his face sent a ripple of satisfaction through her. The crowed was roaring now, though she couldn't tell whether it was approval or disapproval. Taking up her weapon again, she aimed a shot.

The crystal block shattered. The angles the bullets penetrated combined with the quality of ice she'd summoned made the whole block shatter apart. Ice fragments stained with blood scattered across the dirt floor.

Samantha stepped back to see what her handiwork had wrought. She was a bit surprised to find that Vartan was still standing, though he was bent double, his breathing coming harshly.

"I haven't seen Vartan pushed this far in a long time," King boomed from behind her. "How are you feeling, Vartan?"

"I'm not going to lose to some smug pussy," he snarled. He was far from collected now. Samantha could see the rage burning behind his eyes. With a roar, he lunged at her, hands outstretched as if to throttle her. Samantha cast Fire, which caused him to stumble back, blinded by the flames. Taking her opportunity, she cast Ice again, encasing him in the freezing block of solidified water. Her second attack devastated him, and this time Vartan lay on the ground, inert.

There was now a hush of awed – and respectful silence in the hall. Vartan hadn't been defeated for ages, and in one duel, this woman had taken him down. Samantha didn't waste time to catch her breath, merely standing up straight and casting her glance about the room. "All right, let's step right along then. Who's next?"

She would win. She would take any and all challengers and she would win. Samantha raised her chin. She was the woman who would be King.

_To be continued…_


	20. Stepping Down From The Throne

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_ If I owned Square-Enix, the first thing I'd do is publish a Compilation Ultimania. And then release that durned Last Order/Before Crisis soundtrack.

* * *

**Chapter 20: Stepping Down from the Throne**

It had been evening when they'd returned to Midgar. They had all been debriefed then given time to rest up until they were needed once again. As far as Rafe could recall, they hadn't really had a chance to rest since their respective patrols of Sector 8, and in Rosalind's case, she hadn't been able to rest at all since signing up. He felt a little sorry for her, though she hadn't once complained.

Right now they were sitting in a lounge in one of the residential areas of the Shin-Ra complex. This part of the residences was reserved for the Turks, higher ranking army officers without families, and assistants to executives. It was a quiet block in the city, just minutes walk from headquarters itself. The Turks all lived in the same building, which meant that any Turks not on missions usually spent their time in this or another lounge – assuming they got much free time at all. Rafe rubbed a hand over his eyes wearily. Maybe it was the stress of the recent situation that was giving rise to these thoughts, but life with Corneo seemed far more relaxed in comparison with his life now.

Well, mostly.

Sitting back in an overstuffed chair, St. Andrew groaned, throwing his cards disgustedly on the table before him. "You win again," he said. "You sure you aren't stacking the cards, Rafe?"

The gunman coolly raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I would? We aren't playing for cash."

St. Andrew snorted, running a hand through his hair. "Whatever," he muttered. His eyes flickered to Rosalind, who was seated in another chair beside his. "Well? What's your hand looking like?"

Rosalind shook her head, her brow furrowed, her face perplexed. She'd never played poker before, and they'd been taking her through the game. Self-consciously, she placed her cards on the table. "Do I have anything?" she asked.

Rafe's eyes flickered to the cards. So did St. Andrew's.

"Two of a kind," Rafe said, shaking his head. "No. That doesn't beat my hand."

St. Andrew groaned again. "I swear, he's stacked that deck."

"You're getting better at the game," Rafe said to Rosalind, ignoring the other man. He pointed. "You've definitely got a better poker face than him."

"Hey!" St. Andrew shouted indignantly, sitting right back up. Rosalind laughed softly.

"That's it. Give me that deck," St. Andrew demanded. "This time I'm shuffling."

Rafe raised his eyebrows, but gave the man the deck as requested. St. Andrew began shuffling. As he did, Rosalind spoke up.

"Have either of you heard from the other team?"

"No." Rafe shook his head.

"We were with you, remember?" St. Andrew said, now tossing out cards to each player. "You'd have heard something same as us."

"…I guess you're right." Rosalind picked up her cards. "I wonder why they aren't back yet."

St. Andrew shrugged. Rafe didn't bother to answer. Reno and Rude were on that team. The chances of something they couldn't handle cropping up were slim.

While they played, they talked. Rafe explained a little bit about his work with Corneo when asked. St. Andrew wanted to know why he'd left his job, and Rafe explained in brief terms. When he shot the same question back at the auburn haired man, he shrugged, grinning easily.

"I'm gonna be the best there is," he said with a definite swagger in his voice. "Best damned Turk there ever was."

"Don't you miss your gang, though?" Rosalind asked, taking a card out of her hand.

St. Andrew shrugged. "Well, yeah, but there's more to life than the gang." He shook his head, laughing. "That's what I was told, anyway."

Rafe turned his attention to Rosalind. "What about you? Why did you join the Turks?"

"Well…" Rosalind shook her head. "It wasn't really a choice. I mean, it was."

Well that was a good non-answer. She didn't seem like the type to get caught up in something she shouldn't, and from what he'd seen of her, she was too serious and naïve, almost to the point of painfulness. So there had to have been some other reason.

St. Andrew seemed to think so too, because he snorted. "So was it your choice or wasn't it? Come on Rosie. Out with it."

She raised her eyebrows at his choice of name, but said nothing. She threw some chips into the pot. "That's your bet met. I raise 50."

Rafe looked at his cards. They weren't spectacular. Still, he picked up his chips and tossed them in. "I'm game."

It seemed as if St. Andrew wasn't going to let the subject slide, though. "Hey come on. We've told you our stories. What's yours? It can't be that bad, right? I mean, look at you."

Deep inside, Rafe winced at the choice of words. That was going to get him shot if he wasn't careful.

"What do you mean by that?" Rosalind's voice hadn't changed in tone, but there was a definite drop of temperature in the air.

"I mean," St. Andrew said, apparently not picking up on the change, "you don't look like the kind who'd join up because you ran into trouble. You don't look as if you've lived on the streets either. So why did you join?"

She watched him for a long time, as if trying to gauge his intentions. Finally, deciding he wasn't being malicious, she answered. Rafe relaxed. St. Andrew, he'd noticed, had a tendency for running his mouth off without really stopping to think of the consequences. And Rosalind being, to work off of St. Andrew's idea, the type of person she was, he doubted she would take even his jesting lightly. Rafe didn't think he'd ever met someone quite so literal or straight-laced in his life.

"I was offered the job before I graduated," she said, shrugging. "I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, and this seemed just as good as joining the army." She shifted uncomfortably, and Rafe got the distinct impression that there was something she was excluding from her explanation. St. Andrew however, seemed satisfied, and nodded.

After that round, Rosalind stood up to go back to her own room, claiming she was sleepy. Although it was only ten to nine, Rafe couldn't blame her. They had been on the move for six weeks, and unwinding in bed sounded really tempting to him just now. They returned to their respective rooms. Rosalind bid Rafe and St. Andrew both goodnight before letting the door to her room click shut behind her. St. Andrew waved carelessly before retreating inside his own. Rafe swiped his cardkey through the door and entered his own small apartment. He went through the motions of preparing for sleep. Settling back at last on his bed, Rafe stared up at the ceiling.

AVALANCHE… the Gaeans for Planetary Restoration. Tomorrow Rafe would be headed back to Junon to gather some more information. Although neither his time at the church or visiting the Gaeans' website had yielded direct evidence of the group's connections with AVALANCHE, they were still interesting enough that Veld wanted someone out there to perform reconnaissance.

Rafe's eyes slipped shut. Things were never quiet for too long, he mused. He wondered if they would ever be.

Giving up on thinking about it any more, he rolled over, letting sleep drag him down. Tomorrow was a full day, and he needed all the energy he could muster.

-----

Samantha had to admit, if only to herself, that she was feeling just a teensy bit worn out. Successive fights with the men who stood between her and King had been challenging. She'd had to resort mostly to magic, as she found her shotgun just wasn't effective in a situation like this. She'd taken a lot of ethers to restore her magical energy, but even with those measures, she was certainly far from being fresh as a daisy.

Of course, image was everything, and she'd be dead or pretty close to it before admitting that she was anything but sure of her victory. Turning to King, she smiled. "Now it's your turn! Give me your best shot!"

King stepped into the ring. "You're a strange one," he said. "I didn't expect you to get this far." He bunched his hands. A series of cracking and popping sounds filled the hall. Ugh. She hated it when people did that. Raising his fists, King grinned, a vicious showing of teeth that told her he expected to win. Well, he was wrong.

"All right, let's go," he said. "I'm looking forward to this."

"You won't even get my knee to touch the ground," Samantha tossed. "Come on, then. Show me what you've got!"

The fight was brutal, and by far the most difficult she had fought in the club. King was fast, his punches and kicks crippling. Her body ached as she absorbed the blows, but she refused to collapse. Halfway through her last battle, she'd discovered that with her materia slotted in her weapon, she could bring the attribute of that materia to bear on her bullets. And so the bullets that left her shotgun were encased in a controlled fire. Not enough to melt the casing and powder down, but certainly enough to make any shots taken that much more painful. She used this to her advantage. She also used the tactic she'd used with Vartan, encasing King in ice before shattering the magical cage with flaming bullets.

In the end, it was a moment's brilliant mental flash that assured her victory. It was tricky, but she knew it could be done. Backing away so that King was nowhere near her, she snapped her fingers. "Fire!" she yelled.

An arrow of flame sped toward King, who moved to dodge – but not quickly enough. Within moments he was surrounded by a ring of magical flame. She intensified the flame so it rose to waist height. When he was trapped, she quickly called up her Shield magic, encasing both him and the flames inside. And then she waited.

The patrons in the club roared their confusion. A few of them broke loose from the ring and made to confront her, but she extended a second barrier around the ring with a thought. She winced, feeling a sharp pain behind her eyes and a definite slump in her energy. She was running out of magical energy again. She hoped this would be over soon.

Within his double-enforced cell, King struggled. He couldn't get too close to the flames, and he certainly couldn't put them out. The shield encased him, the flames – and the quickly exhausting air supply inside that closed space. Samantha waited, watching the huge man struggle. He sank to his knees. She could see him struggling to breathe.

All at once, the magic cut out. The ring of fire and the shield both disappeared, and King fell to the ground, unconscious. The barrier surrounding the spectators also dropped. Immediately, several of King's lackeys surrounded him.

"He's alive!" one shouted.

"Is he out?" another voice called.

"Like a pole axed cow," the first voice answered.

"Get a Cure materia!" a third voice snapped. Samantha closed her eyes as the noise and exhaustion threatened to overtake her. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep breathing. Don't slump over. Don't show them any sign of weakness. She only had to wait a little more.

Within moments, King had been roused. He blinked up groggily. With the others helping him to sit up, he looked around. His eyes fell on Samantha.

"W… What… I lost…? How could I…" He seemed at a loss for words. Samantha straightened her shoulders.

"That's right." She stepped in front of him. "You lost. I'm the new King." She turned to the crowd, raising her voice. "If any of you have objections to that, I'll be happy to take you on. Anybody?"

Nobody said a word. The expressions in the room ranged from fear to awe to hatred. None of them, however, looked as if they would protest. Good.

"So we understand each other then," she said. "All right, then. All of you, come with me!"

It took some work to herd everyone along to the ship, but eventually she'd gotten them up the gangplank and put safely in the containment pen where all the SOLDIER candidates they'd gathered were waiting. Samantha stood back, proudly admiring her handiwork. Her eye caught King's – or rather, the ex-King's.

"You're right where you belong," she said, smiling benignly at her trophy, "the prize specimen amongst this hallowed assortment of warriors."

He said nothing, his expression closed off. He allowed the gate to the pen to be shut behind him. After securing the gate, Samantha came up on deck to join Reno and Rude. The bald man nodded when she drew near.

"Samantha, good work. You've brought more candidates than we expected."

"Not as many as us, but you know… you are just a rookie now. I'm sure one day you'll catch up with us," Reno teased, grinning at her.

"Of course I will," Samantha said, tossing her hair, placing her hands on her hips. "The two of you have already hit your peak, I'd say. At this rate I'll have you beat in a matter of months."

"Confident," Rude rumbled, his mouth twitching.

"Well…" Reno said, stretching, his mouth opening into a big yawn. "I'm gonna go take a nap in the hold 'til we reach Midgar. It's nice and cool down there. Don't wake me until we've reached the city, got it?" He sauntered off.

"…we'll take care of it," Rude said to his retreating partner's back. Reno waved idly, and disappeared into the hold. They watched him go.

Rude turned back to her. "How was it?"

Samantha shrugged. "Well, the whole operation from start to finish has been rather forceful, hasn't it?" It bothered her a little, but she was determined not to let on. She still remembered Tseng's blunt words to her at their interview and was determined not to let Rude or Reno get wind of any perceived weakness on her part.

Whatever she may have been trying to hide didn't seem to get past Rude. "Sometimes the use of force becomes unavoidable."

"Why?" The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it. "I mean," she said, steadying her voice. "We've gathered all these candidates, haven't we? We've been at it for weeks and from what I've heard SOLIDER numbers haven't been increasing. What's going on here?"

There was a pause, as if Rude was considering just how much he should say. Samantha waited impatiently, hands on her hips. Oh, come on. Did he really think she couldn't handle the answer? Finally, though, she got what she wanted. It was, Samantha thought, somewhere in the back of her head, the lengthiest sentence she'd heard coming from his mouth.

"You have to be strong to enter SOLDIER. Only a handful of those people we've gathered will make it into the ranks."

"So," Samantha said, picking her words deliberately. "We're collecting people who will be separated like raw materials – wheat from chaff."

"On top that they're strong," Rude said, ignoring her analogy, as if she'd said nothing at all. Be careful."

At that moment there came an anguished scream from below deck. Samantha jumped, startled. What were those people doing down there to each other?

"What a ruckus! I'll go down there and see what's happening." She moved quickly. The last thing she wanted was for all those people she'd worked hard to bring here killing each other.

"Hey! Wait!"

Samantha turned around. "Yes?"

He looked uncomfortable now. "Be careful. There's one guy down there that you should specially watch out for."

She waited for him to elaborate. When it was clear that he would say nothing more, she paused. What was so bad that even Rude would be concerned? She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'm prepared for whatever's down there!"

Only she wasn't. A hitched breath that was just short of a gasp escaped her. This was the work of the devil. It had to be. Nobody but a demon could possibly wreak this kind of havoc.

Inside the pen where the SOLDIER candidates were being held, men and women were scattered, as if something had rampaged and knocked them about inside the confines of the enclosure. Many of the candidates were unconscious. She heard several groans, and from somewhere in that mass of jumbled bodies, weeping. She blanched when she saw that one man, closest to the front door of the electrified pen, had had his neck snapped. He stared blankly in her direction, the whites of his eyes far more visible than Samantha found tolerable. In the centre of all the carnage was the devil himself.

He was as tall – taller even than Rude. He was, to put it bluntly, thick. Everything about him screamed big and thick, from his massive arms bulging with muscles to his feet, which looked as though they'd been hewn from the trunks of thousand year old trees. And at that moment, he was lifting King up by his head without any apparent effort. With a satisfied laugh, the huge man hurled the ex-King at the electrified barrier. The sizzling crash and the roaring laughter of the monster filled Samantha's ears.

"This is just atrocious," Samantha breathed out. There was no way one man could do this. He truly was a monster. Standing up straight, readying her shotgun, she raised her voice. "You! You did this, didn't you?" It wasn't that she needed the confirmation, since she had just witnessed him toss a seasoned pro fighter as if he had been nothing more than a toothpick, but she needed to see this fiend's reaction.

The fiend, monster, brute, abomination – whatever he was, kept laughing, as if he hadn't heard her. Fear gave way to overriding anger. Suddenly she was slapping the button that kept the electric current running around the pen, shutting it off. At this, the fiend stopped laughing, observing her with interest. Samantha suppressed a shudder. Those eyes were watching her with a calculated sort of cunning. He was an animal on the hunt, and he was just waiting for her to show some weakness.

No sooner had she opened the door to the pen when the fiend came running at her, roaring. Samantha had been prepared for just such an attack, and fired her weapon.

What she hadn't been prepared for was the bullets bouncing off her adversary as if they were kernels of popped corn and scattering. The fiend continued his forward momentum. Samantha shrieked as she was tossed up into the air. She came slamming down hard upon the metal floor of the ship. For a moment she was blinded as pain blossomed in her skull and shot down her spine. She tried to get up, but found her body wasn't able to: the impact had shocked her system into immobility.

When she could finally move, she got up shakily, ignoring the pain and nausea she felt. Blinking, trying to get her bearings, she found that she'd landed several feet away from the enclosure. Her eyes widened, and she hissed at the pain the movement caused her.

She spotted the fiend standing in front of the pen, holding –

"Hey, that's mine!"

He had her shotgun in his hands. Samantha tried to hold down her dismay at seeing her weapon dwarfed in his huge hands. It looked as if he could easily crush it in his palm.

"Get up!" the fiend roared.

Clutching her head, Samantha concentrated on the bangle on her wrist. There was a pale orb set in there, and she mentally directed its energy so that within moments, the shooting pain subsided and the abrasions she'd gotten from skidding across the floor faded. The headache was still there, but at this point, she didn't care. All she cared about was getting her weapon back and showing this guy who was boss.

"That was rude of you, you know," she said, pulling herself up to her full height. "You don't just attack a lady without giving due warning!"

"Fight me!" he roared, tossing her shotgun at her. Samantha caught it, fumbling before she got it firmly in her grip. Was he mad?!

"The only time I truly live is in the heat of battle. Come! Fight me!"

He was mad, all right. "I don't know what's going through your head," she declared. "Nor do I care. At any rate, you're going to stop this childish stamping and get back in your cage!" He might have been mad, but even madmen sometimes listened to reason.

The fiend threw back his head and laughed.

"You presume to give me orders? The only people worthy of giving me direction are those who prove their strength to me in battle. The only way of proving your strength is by fighting me."

This was so aggravating. Now that she had gotten over her fear and shock, anger once again bubbled to the fore. Anger, and a determination to show this monster up. _I've mounted bigger brutes than him on my wall_, she thought. _I've always won in the end. This time will be no different. _

"Fine then. We'll do things your way. You'll stop your gloating when I'm through with you." Suddenly the mental image of him kneeling before her was there, and she held onto it. That was the prize. It would be difficult, no doubt about that, but the rewards for her success would be immeasurable. She could do this. She was a Turk, after all. Moreover, she was Samantha Hartigan.

"I am called Azul," the fiend declared. He held out his hand as if making an entreaty. "We will fight to the death."

Well. That was a new one. Samantha raised her eyebrows, her mouth involuntarily working up into a smile. Uncharted territory. She loved this kind of thing. She could feel her heart working double time, could practically hear the blood coursing in her veins. This was what she excelled at. It was probably going to be one of the bigger challenges she'd faced to date, but what fun would it be if it wasn't?

"A fight to the death, you say? Well, I have no plans on dying today, and I've got every intention of paying you back for that bit of cheek earlier."

She hefted her shotgun. The guy was big. He was surprisingly fast. And he was definitely strong. Smart, too. It would do her no favours to underestimate him. Experimentally, she fired a shot at him. That got her nowhere. Azul dodged the bullets, laughing derisively. She tried magic. The heat from the magically created flame didn't seem to have much of an effect on him either.

Azul launched a punch at her feet. Samantha jumped back, keeping a tight grip on her weapon. She barely got out of the way as Azul smoothly transitioned from a punch into a run, lowering his head, his arms behind him as if he was trying to head butt her. He skidded to a stop and turned around, grinning.

They were back once more to circling each other. Samantha backed up, trying to put more space between him and her. Her mind scrambled through her other options. She still had bullets, though their effectiveness depended on her accuracy and his skill at dodging them. She also had those sleep shots and… her eyes shot open.

"Fire!" she yelled out, followed quickly by "Shield!"

For a wild, elated moment, she thought it had worked. She could hear Azul roaring in surprise and pain inside the magical barrier, and then, the barrier cut out and that roaring was one of pure rage.

She didn't have time to dodge the blow that came her way. He punched or kicked out – Samantha wasn't sure which – and as she flew into the air a second time, there was a sharp blow to her chest, and she was slamming down hard onto the ground. The impact jarred her, and she bit her tongue, wincing at the pain and the taste of blood filling her mouth.

When she got up, body shaking from the impact, Azul was standing over her with that awful grin. He was singed, and there were a few blisters where the heat had gotten at his skin, but if anything, he seemed even more invigorated than he had before. Samantha's heart wavered. He really was a monster.

"So you can fight a little," Azul said, his deep voice booming down to the very floor. Samantha felt her knees tremble as she put weight on them. "But in the end, you are the one who will lose here, not me."

"You're wrong!!" Samantha snapped. Anger was bubbling through her, giving her the strength to stand, to pick up her weapon. She would wipe that grin off his face. She would wipe the _floor_ with him. "_You're _the one that's going down." And she called upon her magic again.

This time she hemmed him in, giving him no room to move forward. No sooner would he break down the shield than she would put it up anew, increasing the strength of her attacks. She used that time to change clips so she was back to using tranquilizer bullets. Now she was taking shots at him in the small intervals between the barrier breaking down and her putting it up again. Azul was roaring again, and this time she _knew_ he was frustrated. When he broke through the shield again, Azul sneered at her through bubbling, raw lips.

"What's the matter? Done already?"

He got points for bravado. "Far from it," she said, tossing her head. "This is where it really gets fun." And she redoubled her attacks.

The trouble with magic, though, was that sooner or later it ran out on you. The only thing left to do then was to wait for one's natural reserves to recuperate or else boost them with ethers and elixirs. After letting off her last shot, she dipped a hand into her pocket. Damn. Looks like her luck had run out.

Azul, breaking through the final barrier, seemed to sense it too. He grinned, a horrible expression coming from his battle damaged face.

"That was fun," he said, "but let's finish this. I don't like fighting weaklings who've run through all their strength."

"You know, I was thinking the same thing," Samantha said, smiling for all she was worth. Bravado. She could do it too. Damned if she would show fear or anything but pure delight. And in truth, she was delighted. This had been fun, as Azul had said. She hadn't had this much fun since those sallies in the fields and forests of her home in Mideel.

"Let's go," she murmured.

She was going to spring forward, throw everything into her final attack – when she was jerked back. She stumbled, catching her weapon and crashed hard into a wall.

No, not a wall. It was rumbling, and it sounded like –

"Samantha, move!"

Rude?

She was hurled bodily backwards, so she stumbled again. With an abortive shriek she fell. There was a roar, the sound of a fist connecting with a body, a grunt, and a loud impact. When she looked up, it was to see Rude standing over the body of Azul, who was lying prone on the floor.

"You again," Azul said. There was something in his voice Samantha couldn't identify. One part admiration, one part disgust, and a part… contempt?

"Settle down," Rude said. He looked at the sprawled bodies of Azul's conquests, shaking his head slightly. He started to pick Azul up, hauling him back towards the pen. The defeated man offered no resistance, despite the fact that he was about twice as wide as Rude was. The sight was incongruous, and in a word, impressive.

"Samantha, we're going," Rude said after he had locked the pen again. He turned around, brushing past her to go back up on deck without waiting for a response. Samantha shook her head and started to follow, then turned back to Azul.

"Well, it looks as if you've been spared," she said archly. "We'll leave it here for now."

She made her way up the stairs, feeling smug – and suddenly she crashed down to earth.

What was she feeling so good about? She hadn't won; Rude had been the one to subdue Azul, not her. The smugness, the euphoria – all of it – was gone now, replaced by a mounting mortification and outrage. Damn it, she hadn't won anything at all. She'd been bilked.

_To be continued… _


	21. Discontent

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer: _Square-Enix owns it all. Moo. Baa. Oink.

* * *

**Chapter 21: Discontent**

The next day, Rafe hauled himself out of bed and made his way up to the rooftop of Shin-Ra headquarters, where a chopper was waiting for him. Nodding to the pilot, he got in the passenger side and stared out the window as the city receded. The sky grew from a greenish-black to yellow and then eventually to blue as they left the city behind and flew across the bay to Junon. The soothing sound of the rotors overhead and the picturesque ocean below put Rafe in mind of sleep, but he shook the impulse off. He had to adjust to his new life here; otherwise he wouldn't be able to function. He'd just have to live with feeling weary for a while.

When they landed, it was getting on towards evening. The first thing Rafe did was check in with Veld, who told him to scout the city for any further clues before attending the meeting in the church with the Gaeans.

Search for clues… Rafe shrugged. SOLDIER and the Junon guards had been making inquiries ever since the pre-emptive seizure of the cannon by the terrorists. Not surprisingly, they hadn't been able to uncover anything aside from a few warehouse manifests where AVALANCHE had been keeping supplies, and that in itself was a dead end, as the group had abandoned those resources and there was no way to trace them from just a few slips of paper. And then there was nothing saying that the Gaeans for Planetary Restoration were connected with AVALANCHE. All that was there between the two groups was uncanny timing and similar objectives… with a strong anti-Shin-Ra sentiment.

Making his way slowly to the church, Rafe kept his eyes open for anything unusual. The city had recovered quickly from the terrorist threat. People filled the evening streets, enjoying the boons of an unseasonably warm evening. There were even tables laid out in front of cafes, and people sipped drinks and ate their meals, laughing, talking. It was like a scene out a film, Rafe thought, where everybody enjoyed life and nothing remotely bad happened to any of the characters, because let's face it, bleak reality never sold in the box offices.

Turning onto the street where the church was located, Rafe looked up at the building. It was a fairly new construction, modest and clean. It wasn't grand by any stretch of the imagination, but it probably did what it was supposed to, and that was good enough. Eyes scanning lampposts and telephone poles, he saw a fresh profusion of signs, these ones bearing the text 'GAEANS FOR A SUSTAINABLE PLANET. REJECT MAKO ENERGY, THE BLOOD OF INNOCENTS!'

Well. They were attention grabbing. What else could he say?

He decided not to take them down. He still had this meeting in the church to go to after all, and if someone passing by saw him removing the flyers, he'd be calling unwanted attention to himself. Instead he headed to the entrance, adjusting the hood of his pullover as he did.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he looked around. The reception desk was empty once more, and, Rafe noticed, the pamphlets he'd taken were back as well. It looked as if they had spontaneously multiplied, as they took up almost the entire shelf, crammed hither and thither into every available space. The group sure was insistent about getting its message across. Interesting.

"Ah, you've decided to come after all!"

Rafe turned around to face the man he'd been speaking to in the church the last time. He nodded at the older man.

"You're frightfully early, though. The meeting doesn't start for an hour yet." The old man peered at Rafe, hands clutching his cane. He put Rafe in mind of a caged bird with his curious eyes, slightly hunched posture and gnarled hands on the stick.

"I thought I'd take a look around the church," Rafe answered, shrugging. "I didn't really get a chance to the last time."

"Oh, of course, of course. Would you like me to show you around? There isn't that much to do until the meeting, and I do love this place."

Rafe cocked his head. "Sure, why not?"

As they walked into the main hall of worship, the man spoke amiably about the church's history, about the buildings, community projects and his job in the church.

"Are you a member of the Gaeans as well?" Rafe asked, once they'd gotten off the topic of guest preachers the church was thinking of inviting the next season. "I'd like to talk a little bit about that, if you don't mind."

"No, of course I don't mind." The man beamed. "I'm not as dedicated as some of the others, but I do come out to all the meetings."

Something about this struck Rafe as odd. The last time Rafe had been here, the man had gotten out a book to check the times the group met, as if he didn't know. What was going on?

"Are the meetings always on Thursday?" Rafe ventured. "I work a lot of Thursdays; it was just lucky I got today off."

"Well," the man said, nodding affably, "I guess they are at that. They used to be held on Tuesdays, but the leader of the group said that Tuesday was suddenly a no-go and it got moved to Thursdays."

A no-go? "Why did they move the days?" Rafe said. Perhaps he was being imprudent, but he really was curious.

"I don't know. I remember he was saying he wanted to expand operations to Midgar. He's a busy man, you know. They started out as a small group in Cosmo Canyon."

Just like AVALANCHE had. Rafe wanted to ask who this guy was, but he'd already gone out on a limb, and if he asked any more questions like these, he'd arouse his guide's suspicion. He smiled instead, putting out a hand. "I don't think I got your name. I'm Kale."

"Potter. Bartholomew Potter." The man took a hand off his staff to shake Rafe's.

"Thanks for answering my questions," Rafe said. "I had a pretty rough time back in Midgar, and it's been hard talking to anybody else."

"You mentioned something about that before," Bartholomew commented. He didn't pry, although the look he shot Rafe was curious.

After some feigned hesitancy, Rafe began to speak. "You see, I grew up in the slums of Midgar. Wall Market. It's a rough place to grow up."

"Yes." Bartholomew nodded. "We've had quite a few people drifting in from Midgar. They all say the same thing."

"Yeah." Rafe paused. "I wanted to see life on the surface, just once. You know… all you can see below is metal. So I decided one day waiting and wishing wasn't going to work. I decided to get out of the slums. That's when my troubles began."

Rafe weaved what he considered a skilful story of adventure, loss and betrayal, followed by a forced exodus, hiding from Shin-Ra troops while he tried to lay low here. He must have done a good job, because Bartholomew was nodding vigorously, his cheeks flushed, eyes shining.

"You'll be safe," he said. "Shin-Ra can't hurt you here."

It was a strangely confident statement, and Rafe could only nod. He smiled at Bartholomew. "I'm glad."

People began to trickle into the church. Bartholomew led Rafe into a small activities room where several people were seated in foldout chairs. Looking around, he wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but the middle class-like gathering took him somewhat by surprise. Neat sweaters, smartly combed hair, subdued colours, small but earnest murmurs. It looked more like an afternoon tea than a violent resistance group.

Rafe took a seat at the back, nodding at Bartholomew, who said he had some errands to run before the meeting started. He felt a little underdressed but decided that his hoodie and jeans were far preferable to his suit. Between the two, this stuck out less.

The door opened again, and Rafe turned around in his seat. A thin man with glasses and short hair wearing a fitted button down shirt and slacks came in, smiling pleasantly at the group, which had gone silent. So this was the representative for the Gaeans for Planetary Restoration.

"Ladies and gentlemen, greetings. I thank you for coming once again to our weekly meeting." He bowed slightly. "We have many things on the agenda tonight, so let's not waste any time."

As he was speaking, Bartholomew returned and sat beside Rafe, his face shining with excitement. Rafe wondered just what it was that was so rousing. The man up at the front wasn't saying anything groundbreaking. He too turned his attention back to the front of the room.

"- funding campaigns around the world. It's thanks to your donations that we have been able to go as far as Icicle continent to spread our message."

There was clapping. Rafe clapped as well, watching the crowd. A good many of them looked as ecstatic as Bartholomew did. Really, what was it about this group? This man?

The rest of the meeting was spent going over initiatives, programs and clean up rallies happening down at the beaches. Then members began to get up to the front of the room, encouraged by the Gaean leader, telling stories about the old Junon beach, about "saving the planet" – mako boycotts, community support – and finally, Rafe was made to get up to introduce himself. He did, albeit reluctantly; to disagree would have meant inviting unwanted scrutiny.

Afterwards, Rafe spoke with Bartholomew and several other members. The Gaean leader had gone home immediately after the meeting.

"What did you think?" Bartholomew said, beaming at Rafe.

He thought about what to say for a moment. "He's very charismatic, isn't he? It's too bad he couldn't stay. I would have liked to talk to him."

"Oh, he's always travelling and doing everything he can to make the Gaeans a global presence." This came from a young man with blonde hair.

"Does that man – I didn't get his name – always come here? I mean, if he's always doing other work, it must be hard for him to make it here every week. That's dedicated of him."

"Well, you see, Mr. Fuhito does most of the meetings, but sometimes there's another man named Shears that conducts them. They're both very passionate. We're lucky to have them."

Rafe had tuned out most of what was being said as soon as the words Fuhito and Shears had cropped up. So it was them. There was a connection.

The Gaeans were AVALANCHE.

-----

Samantha was not happy. After going up on deck, she and Rude had had a fight – or it felt like a fight anyway; Samantha wasn't sure what it had been. Nothing she had said had swayed Rude, and he had only stonewalled her objections. In the end, there had been nothing to talk about. But she still seethed. That fight had rightfully been hers and he had taken it from her. No amount of talk – or non-talk, as it were – changed that fact.

And then the phone had rung, cutting off any further argument. It was Tseng, telling them that AVALANCHE was docked in the port and that they were on their way. Darkly, Samantha thought to herself that it would be good if Rude didn't try to take the fun out of this too. As if reading her mind, Rude told her to head out to cut AVALANCHE off while he stayed on board to try and get the vessel moving, away from the docks. Grateful, she left the ship, looking out across the pier for signs of the enemy.

She didn't have far to look. There they were, all uniformed, gathering several hundred yards from the vessel. And with them was a burly man in a bandana.

"Shears," she whispered. It had to be. He matched Rosalind's description. Ooookay. So this was going to be a little tough. There were so many of them, and with one of the AVALANCHE leaders with them, well…

_I haven't got time for thoughts like_ _that_, Samantha thought. There was only one entrance to the ship, and she had her shotgun. She wouldn't let a single one of them on board.

She heard Shears shouting and gesturing in various directions. The men under his command moved in formation. A left and right flank each, as well as one that would attack from the centre. Divide to conquer. Samantha raised a derisive eyebrow. Well, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

The first of the men from each of the columns approached. Samantha raised her weapon.

The fight was unexpectedly straightforward. She practically mowed down the AVALANCHE members that got within range of her shotgun. Not a single one of them escaped.

She was just turning her attention to Shears when a larger group of operatives came marching around the corner. They stopped beside Shears, saluting. She raised her eyebrows at this. How many men were there? Surely he wasn't going to try and win by numbers? It was such a depressingly simple plan, and she really didn't want to have to expend the bullets for something as passé as their Plan A had been.

As it turned out, the nature of their attack _had_ changed – instead of splitting off and making a run for the ship, the operatives, Samantha soon found out, had been instructed to split off in different directions – and then converge on her.

"This could be tough," Samantha murmured, watching the flanks running, taking out weapons as they did. Then she smiled. So much the better.

But they had planned far better than she had given them credit for. Even with her shotgun, the attacks from multiple angles distracted her, so that at the battle's end, she found that Shears was gone. Whipping around at the noise behind her, she felt a mingled relief and trepidation at the sight of Rude making his way down the gangplank anchoring the ship to the dock. She called out to him. Why was he down here? Why hadn't the ship moved off somewhere safer?

"There are intruders on board," he said, nodding back up at the ship.

"Well, we're not letting any more of them get even close to the ship!"

"Obviously." Rude looked at a point somewhere beyond Samantha's head. "Get ready. Here they come!"

Another wave of operatives had come running around to their side of the dock and were barrelling at them full-tilt, shouting, weapons raised. _Give me a break_, Samantha thought. While she no longer scoffed at the repetitiveness of the tactics – some of the operatives had broken through her defence and gotten on board the vessel, after all – she was frustrated with the seemingly endless wave of men that AVALANCHE was throwing at them. Just how many of them were there?!

"Are you all right?" Rude asked, when at last, the attacks had subsided. It didn't look as if any more operatives would be coming to join their comrades.

Catching a stitch in her side, Samantha nodded. "It's not a problem," she said, letting a smirk glide across her features. "What about you, Rude? You look a little worn out. Are you all right?"

Rude made a soft noise that wasn't quite a snort. A small expression that was almost a smile touched his lips. This was familiar territory to them both. "Nice comeback," he rumbled. "Don't get complacent, though."

"Understood," Samantha replied with a grin. _I won that one_, she thought smugly.

They both turned, ready to make their way back to the vessel and clear out the AVALANCHE operatives that had gotten in when someone shouted at them to stop. Samantha spun on her heel. _Let me guess…_

A guess would have been wasted, it was so patently obvious. She nearly snorted with disdain at the sight before her.

AVALANCHE operatives. Four of them. Even as she raised her shotgun they were splitting up. Two of them came running with melee weapons, while the other two backed them up with pistols. Samantha took out two of them with her shotgun, and Rude used Grand Spark to disable the third man. The last one standing took aim at Samantha, but collapsed screaming as a fire spell overtook him.

Samantha and Rude waited tensely to see if more operatives would come out. After that many false stops and starts, neither of them was all that sure anymore. A few more seconds passed. Samantha placed a hand on her hip, cradling her weapon in her crook of her arm.

"Well, that's that, I suppose. Something's off, though…"

And it flashed in her mind like lightning. Shears! She turned wide eyes to Rude. "Where's Shears?!"

"Samantha, are you sure?" He didn't need to ask what she was thinking; he knew perfectly well that if Shears had been there in front of her and he was no longer there, there was only one place he could have gone.

She nodded grimly. "Yes." It had been him, and he wasn't here.

"Get back to the ship. Hurry!" He sprinted up the gangplank. Samantha followed, ignoring the stitch in her side as it acted up again.

As they ran full speed up the entrance and into the ship, they ran into men and women running in the opposite direction, heading for the exit. Samantha's heart dropped into her shoes. Those were the SOLDIER candidates they'd worked so hard to collect. Shears had released them.

"Forget about them!" Rude shouted without looking back. He turned a corridor, ignoring a frightened escapee as he barrelled past him. "Shears! We need to find Shears!"

But Samantha wasn't thinking any more about the escapees or even Shears anymore. Rather, she was looking for one particular escapee as she and Rude ran for the hold where the candidates had been held.

Where was Azul…?

When they got to the hold, Shears was waiting for them, arms crossed, an arrogant look sitting on his rough face. "Back already?" he said, leaning against the electrified pen – only it was no longer electrified. Samantha's eyes travelled to the switch that activated the current and saw that it had been smashed in. Shears' handiwork.

"Shears!" she shouted. For reasons she couldn't explain, the deep discontent which had been simmering beneath the surface burst forth now in a fit of rage. She didn't see Azul here either. Only Shears.

"It's a good thing you came," Shears said, pushing his weight off the pen, uncrossing his arms. "You saved me the trouble of coming to find you. You're both gonna die. Right here, right now." His knuckles cracked, and he looked at them both with an expression very much like relish.

Beside her, Rude had gone stiff and quiet. It wasn't unusual, this state of being for the tall man, but there was something in his aura that made the hairs on the back of Samantha's neck stand up.

Shears seemed to sense the change as well, because he smiled. It was a fully confident, condescending expression, and suddenly, the rage flew out of Samantha and was replaced by uncertainty. She had the feeling that, should Rude and he fight, Rude would not come out the victor. She said nothing though, watching the two men. From beside her, Rude spoke at last. His voice was harsh; the sound of it made Samantha want to flinch.

"Samantha, go and find the escaped candidates!"

She shook her head, ignoring her body's pleas to just do as Rude was saying. "I can't. Even Reno couldn't stand up to this guy. You can't win alone." She forced herself to move forward, in front of Rude, so that she was between him and Shears.

"Where are you going?" Rude demanded. She heard the sound of creaking leather. He was flexing his gloved fists. Samantha swallowed.

"I'm going to get Reno," she said, as calmly as she could. Maybe she could talk him out of this. To face him alone would be tantamount to suicide, even for Rude. So many things had gone wrong, and while she was torn – she wanted to find Azul – she knew ultimately that leaving Rude here to face Shears on his own was a very bad idea. This man had defeated Reno. He had injured Rosalind. He was capable of much worse.

"Forget about Reno… let him sleep." Rude's voice brooked no argument.

"But this is too dangerous!" Samantha half-wailed, half-shrieked at him. Anger was once again pulsing in her veins. Men! Stupid, reckless, stubborn men! What was it that made them think themselves invincible in even the most impossible of circumstances? It was maddening!

And still Rude didn't look at her. Oh, he was good at stonewalling, she thought, frustrated. He opened his mouth, and she could guess what he would say. "I'll take care of him. You go and find the escaped candidates. Those are your orders." The last few words were emphasized firmly. She couldn't refuse. Refusal was insubordination, and a Turk who couldn't follow orders was…

She nodded stiffly. Prepared as she had been to hear him say it, she couldn't stop feeling trapped… and offended. This fight was clearly very important to him, though Shiva only knew why. It was probably some primeval chest thumping thing, and…

Suddenly the thought of Reno flashed into her mind. Shears was the one who had injured Reno…

Her eyes widened. "Rude…" She nodded again, this time smiling confidently. "Okay, I understand. Leave the capture of those candidates to me."

She strode past him, turning her back on Shears. Whatever happened would happen. She had a job to do. _No matter how impossible the mission, the Turks will see it through…_It might have been cliché, but clichés were what they were for a reason, after all, and Samantha was a Turk, and a Hartigan on top of that.

"I'll be back soon!" she called. Rude didn't answer back, but she didn't let it bother her. He had his work to do, and she had hers.

"I'll flatten anybody that gets in my way," she murmured. "And I'll get all those candidates, _every single one of them_, back onto that boat."

**-----**

After the meeting in the church, Rafe went back to the Junon branch office and got through to Veld, reporting everything he'd seen and heard.

"I see," Veld said thoughtfully over the line. "I'll report this to the President. It seems we've underestimated the extent of the threat the enemy presents. Do you think the Gaeans are connected with AVALANCHE's activities?"

"Some of them might be," Rafe replied, "but I doubt most of them are. They're being duped the same as everybody else, giving funds for what they think is campaigns and peaceful resistance methods." He paused. "What are we going to do? There are a lot of other branches of AVALANCHE around the world and probably as many of these stooge groups." They had been lucky to hit upon the connection here with the Junon front group and AVALANCHE, but there was no other way to get clues to the other groups as far as he could see. He had asked Bartholomew but he hadn't known anything about the other groups outside Junon. Neither had any of the other members. AVALANCHE had taken great care to cover their tracks.

"I'll be sending Rosalind and St. Andrew out to different locations to scout the other groups. How are you feeling about another mission?" Veld asked. Rafe cocked his head.

"Where did you want me to go next?"

"Nibelheim. Rosalind will be going to Icicle and St. Andrew will be here in Midgar."

Rafe nodded. "And the other locations?" Belatedly he appended a "sir" to the question.

"I've got others working on those locations. Report to me when you arrive."

Others? But there was only him, St. Andrew, and Rosalind. The others were all in Costa del Sol bringing back the last of the SOLDIER candidates. He didn't say anything, merely acknowledging his orders. When he had hung up, he closed his eyes briefly. They had spread quickly, AVALANCHE. How long had this been in the offing? The very planet was under siege and it wasn't at all aware. All this was building up to something big and most certainly unpleasant; Rafe knew it. The noose was tightening. Though things had only just started, Rafe could feel behind him something silken and cold tighten around his neck.

-----

The sun was shining brightly as it always did, beating down upon the sun seeking beachgoers, baking the clay roofs of the villas and warming the cobbled stones of the pavement beneath Samantha's feet. The sound of laughter beyond the doors of the bar she was standing in front of grew louder, then faded to a dull din as the doors closed. A group of men wearing swimming trunks whistled at her and called for her to join them on the beach, roaring with drunken laughter. She ignored them, honing her senses in search of her prey.

Where had they gone? Costa wasn't exactly a small backwater town, and they could be anywhere by now. She blew out an exasperated breath. Really, that meant she'd have to start a search from scratch. The longer she stayed out here, wasting time in tracking escapees, the less chance Rude had of winning that fight, no matter how much bravado he put into his assertions. Why hadn't he at least let her wake Reno up?

Turning on her heel, she entered the bar, shoving her thoughts into the periphery.

The bar was filled with patrons in swimsuits and sundresses. The air inside smelled of coconut rum and sweetgrass. A few patrons looked up at her when she came in, and their eyes were drawn to her weapon. Silence fell, and rippled as she marched to the bar. Without wasting any time, she addressed the proprietor.

"I'm looking for some fugitives. Has anybody come by here that looked as if they were in a hurry to blend in or escape?"

Although she'd said this as lowly as possible, it was clear that pretty much the entire establishment had heard her. She could practically _hear_ them holding their breath.

"Nobody like that's been in here," the proprietor said. He jerked his head at her gun. "Nobody else will come in here either, with that big gun of yours."

Samantha knew a hint when she heard one. She nodded and took her leave.

Now where to? Just outside the bar was a set of steps leading to a different part of the resort town. Turning right would lead to the path out of town. While she wasn't going to discount that just yet, she had to sweep Costa itself first. There was a good chance that many of those runaways here hiding someplace nearby, after all. The path to the left would lead to more shops and to the beach proper. She settled on the path straight ahead, down the steps.

The street here was lined by villa houses. They meandered down the street to the left and the right. As Samantha arrived at the bottom of the steps, she saw a furtive figure dash into one of the houses. She followed.

At the sound of her entry, the escapee turned around. Terrified eyes greeted her. Sun poured through the open window, and a shaft of light caught the man's face, which was covered in a thick sheen of sweat.

"I didn't think you'd find me, not this fast…" the man muttered. He sounded as if he was speaking to himself. Then, as if coming to some deep inner decision, he nodded, squaring his shoulders, turning to face her. "I've got no choice then. I've got to fight."

He turned and grabbed a long, thin object from behind him. The dissonant sound of metal scraping against metal screeched abrasively against Samantha's ears. When she saw what the object was, she couldn't help it. She laughed.

It was a poker. A poker for a fireplace in a town where the temperatures never dipped lower than twenty degrees at night. Utterly ridiculous.

Wiping tears from her eyes with one hand, her head snapped up, and, before the man could move she'd thrown a fire spell at him. He dropped the poker with a shriek. Marching to him, she hauled him up with a free hand, jabbing her weapon into his chest. Not that she needed to. She could incapacitate him with magic, but the shotgun got the point across so much more effectively.

"Try anything untoward and I'll kill you," she said lowly. Just in case he hadn't gotten the point the first time, of course. When the man nodded his understanding with a few jerky bobs of his head, she purred: "Now, where have the other candidates gone, I wonder?"

He shook his head frantically. The sweat was actually whipping off his face now. Samantha winced as a drop of it hit her on the cheek. Disgusting. "I don't know. I came here by myself."

"I see. Too bad," Samantha said. She knocked him out with the butt of her shotgun. Well, that was one man down. She couldn't drag him with her back to the ship or take him with her while she searched for the other escapees, but…

Reaching into a pocket, she found what she was looking for. A bunch of clips used to tag animals. They all had small tracking devices installed, and she could follow them up with her PHS later. _I knew these would be useful_, she thought happily, clipping a tag onto the lapel of the unconscious man.

She made her way back outside. Blinking in the sunshine, she wondered where she should go next. Her eyes fell unconsciously to the path leading to the beach, and she shook her head. She doubted any of them would be working on their tan. Sighing, she continued her way down the street.

A few houses along, she heard a scuffling sound and hushed, irritated male voices. Hmm…

Cautiously, she put a hand on the doorknob. Then, counting down to one in her mind, she shoved the door open. It gave way with an almighty bang, startling the occupants inside. She smiled at the men inside. They were definitely escapees.

"A Turk!!" one of the men shouted. "I didn't come all this way just so I could get caught again!" He charged her.

Within minutes, both men were down and Samantha was administering more sleeping serum and tracking tags. She stood over her handiwork for a few seconds, then nodded, satisfied. Neither of these men had been willing to tell her anything, but she figured she could get a good number of the candidates back. If they were all as simple as these ones were…

Again her mind flashed to Azul. No, not all of them would be this simple. She frowned.

There was nobody in Club Duel, either. The bouncer had refused to let her in at first, but after she had pushed her weight a bit, he had let her through. He had been telling the truth. The place was completely empty. She left the club disappointed. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but not that. Sighing, she held her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. And then she saw him.

"That's… one of them," she said, watching with eyebrows raised as the prisoner darted furtively from behind some sedge palm and into the bar.

She found him as soon as she entered the establishment. The imbecile was actually ordering a drink. She stepped forward. "You there," she said, tossing her head. "You'll be coming back with me."

The customers were goggling at her again, looking from her to the man, who was standing gape-mouthed with his drink in his hand. Then, as if deciding to throw caution to the wind, he drained the glass in one go and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "I've been found, huh."

Well, obviously. Samantha rolled her eyes. "We're going back to the ship. Come on."

"No way I'm gonna!" The man scrambled back, putting a stool between them. Samantha's eyes flickered to it, then to him. He was kidding, right? She raised her weapon.

"I'd rather we do this painlessly," she said, in her best mother-knows-best voice. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather -?"

"Get the hell away from me!" the man screamed, throwing his glass at her. It shattered on the wall behind her. The patrons screamed. "Freaky bitch! You think I'm gonna go because you say so?!"

Why did he have to cause such a fuss? Samantha sighed. She was getting a headache.

The battle was quick. One well placed shot that got him simultaneously in both kneecaps had him prostrate before her. Grabbing him by the hair, she smiled. "Now, why don't you tell me where the other candidates are?"

They stared at each other, brown eyes meeting blue. The man spat. "How the fuck would I know?"

"I see. Well… Then you leave me no choice."

After the second round of shots, the man was screaming to let him tell her everything he knew. Sobbing, he said that the majority of the escapees had headed to another boat docked near the Shin-Ra vessel. It was the AVALANCHE boat.

_To be continued…_

* * *

_Author's Notes_: Just a quick note to say thanks to everyone that's been reading along and reviewing. :) You've totally made my day.


	22. Never Trust Your Own

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer:_It isn't mine. Got it memorized?

**Chapter 22: Never Trust Your Own**

St. Andrew was dreaming. In his dream, he was running with the very first gang he'd entered. It was one of the ones that roamed the neighbourhoods of the upper plate of Midgar, and they'd become well-known in their neighbourhood for muggings and jackings. The gang was back in the hideout after a successful run, having just looted a bunch of yuppies who thought they'd take a walk on the wild side. Midgar's denizens had a fondness for slumming – to a safe degree. They wouldn't go so far as the real slums below the plate, but a grittier and reasonably safe experience above it wasn't beyond them. Those slum-wannabes soon learned that it was just as dangerous above as below.

Sitting in front of a small stack of wallets piled in a corner, St. Andrew counted out the cash. Enough gil to splash out for a few days. And then there were the credit and debit cards too. He wondered what he'd spend his share on. Maybe more parts for his bike…

And then there was a loud ringing noise, like a klaxon. The gang jerked from their various positions, startled by the sound. What the hell was that? A pounding at the door made them all turn around, alarmed. The knocking was loud, insistent, and at the same time, the ringing noise was only getting louder.

"Damn it, we've been found!" someone yelled. St. Andrew scrambled up. The wallets fell from his lap, scattering around him. The knocking grew louder; people were now running around shouting and suddenly the door burst open and there was light –

St. Andrew's eyes snapped open. The ringing was still there, and he leapt up, looking around him wildly for the source of the sound.

The black mobile on his bedside table was skittering across the table's surface, ringing loudly. St. Andrew breathed a sigh of relief, pressing a button at the side. The ringing stopped. Pressing another button, he looked at the time. 6:22. Groaning, he flopped back onto the bed. He was damned sure he hadn't set his alarm to get him up this early… Closing his eyes once more, he prepared to go back to sleep when he heard it. That knocking sound. Same as the dream.

Shooting up into a sitting position once more, St. Andrew stretched his feet out, bringing them down onto the carpet.

There it was again. He stood up, making his way out of his bedroom and down the short corridor to the combined kitchen and living room. Just off the kitchen was the small entryway to his apartment. The knocking came again, loud and jarring against the otherwise still air of the apartment. Taking hold of the handle, he wrenched open the door.

"Rosie?" He blinked. A tiny woman, blonde and pale stood in front of the door, her arm raised in mid-knock. Immediately she dropped the arm.

"I thought I was going to have to break down your door," she said. She cocked her head at him, eyebrows furrowing in consternation. "You didn't respond to the message, so Tseng sent me down here to get you."

"Uh… He did?" He scratched at the back of his head. "For what?" Belatedly, he realized that his PHS had gone off for a reason. His growing chagrin must have been evident on his face, because Rosalind only raised an eyebrow and stepped back, jerking her chin at him.

"Get dressed, St. Andrew. We've got a mission."

When they arrived at headquarters, Tseng was staring at him impassively, though there was just the merest hint of disapproval in his smooth features. "Why didn't you respond to the message?"

"He was asleep sir," Rosalind said, cutting across St. Andrew. "We didn't get to sleep until late last night, you see."

There was a silence. Tseng and St. Andrew stared at her. Then her words seemed to penetrate, because Rosalind flushed and stammered, "I mean, all of us – St. Andrew, Rafe and I, we –" She stopped again. "Never mind," she mumbled. "I should have realized you wanted both of us here, sir. I'm sorry."

St. Andrew bit hard on his tongue to keep the grin from his face. Tseng, for his part, was moving smoothly on.

"That's all right, Rosalind. I don't expect you to read minds, although" he smiled a little, "that would be an invaluable asset." He addressed them both. "I'm sending you both out to do some reconnaissance work. A report came from Rafe yesterday. We have reason to believe that AVALANCHE has been recruiting and gathering large amounts of funds from civilians around the world to finance their activities against the company.

"These funds are gathered through front groups. The likelihood is that these groups are in just about every major city around the world. Mostly they'll be parading as environmentalist groups, although we can't discount the possibility that there are other guises AVALANCHE will use." Tseng held up a file. "All the pertinent details are in here. I want you both to look carefully through the data we've assembled, then head out and find these front groups." He looked sternly at them both. "I don't have to tell you this, but I'll say it anyway: the membership of these groups is in the majority civilians who don't know anything about AVALANCHE or its true objectives. Don't do anything that will compromise yourselves or the company." Rosalind nodded with a crisp "yes sir". Tseng turned his eyes on him. St. Andrew nodded.

"Rosalind, you'll be going to Icicle. There aren't too many large populated areas on the continent, so it shouldn't take you long. St. Andrew, you'll be covering Midgar."

Wait. Midgar was huge. How come he was getting the bigger detail? Stuck somewhere between feeling proud that Tseng had thought he could handle the entire city and bemusement – where the hell was he going to _start_? – his thoughts were interrupted by Tseng.

"You'll be covering the upper half of the city. It will take time to make your way through all of the sectors, but I don't want you to rush."

"Okay." St. Andrew scratched the back of his head. "So who's doing the lower?"

"Another agent," Tseng replied. St. Andrew was about to ask who, but Tseng was already giving them their final instructions, and it was clear he wasn't going to get any more in the way of an answer. Sighing, he looked at Rosalind, then at the file in her hands. "Fine. Let's see that file."

They pored over the file until Rosalind left to catch her flight to Icicle. St. Andrew stood up as well, grabbing his EMR. After checking to make sure he had all the supplies he would need, he set out.

Shin-Ra headquarters was at the very centre of the city, cocooned by the eight sectors. The main entrance to the building was in Sector 1, and this is where St. Andrew stood, looking over his PHS and making mental calculations. Tseng had given him a list of all relevant meeting halls, churches and other places large enough to hold a fair-sized congregation of people in each sector. There was no way he was going to be able to finish this all in one day, but at least he knew what he was looking for; it was better than a blind search through the city.

It took him about three hours to finish the first sector. By then it was nearing lunchtime, and St. Andrew groaned. No, he definitely wasn't going to finish this in one day. As he exited the community centre, he ticked it off his list, looking down at the next coordinates. Sector Two.

Making an impatient noise, he scrolled through the locations list on his PHS. The length of this list was even more appallingly long than the Sector 1 list had been. Disgustedly, he stuffed the device into a pocket. Fuck this, he was hungry. He knew just where to go…

He ended up in Sector 8, close to headquarters, home to a little deli that happened to be the best place to get a pile-high smoked meat sandwich. As he ate, he thought about his next course of action. Maybe Sector 8 was a good place to look from; as the newest sector, it hadn't had time to accumulate the kinds of buildings in the way Sector 1 had. It wouldn't take nearly as long; and besides, he was here already. There would be no point in backtracking to get to Sector 2, and nobody had told him he had to go in order.

With his decision made, St. Andrew sipped his soda, nodding to himself. The door beside him opened.

"-make the meeting. I'm working late tonight, so I'll be held up. Can you say hi to Genessa for me if I don't show?"

"Yeah, sure. But you know, one of the biggies is going to be there tonight. They say he's a real show. Can't you talk to your boss?"

"No… What was the guy's name again?"

"I can't remember what it is… sounds like it comes from Wutai or something, though. Morito, or something?"

Their voices faded gradually as they made their way to the counter.

After he'd finished his lunch, St. Andrew found himself outside again, staring at the increasingly despised list on his screen. He peered at the list, taking note of the places he'd have to check out. Eight buildings. Sector 8. Huh.

As he ticked his way down the list, St. Andrew grew increasingly impatient. Checking his watch every now and then, he saw that time was quickly escaping him – it was now almost three in the afternoon and he hadn't found one thing even remotely related to AVALANCHE. Turning a corner, he came to a stop in front of his next destination: the Coruscant Memorial Hall. In front of the building was a wide half-circle of yellow bricks that made a low decorative wall. Following along the curve of the semi-circle were wrought iron benches, which a few people sat on. The steps to the building were low – only three steps to the entrance. He took these up.

Inside, the hall was grander than anything St. Andrew could have imagined. The entire place was made to look like the inside of some ancient building. Like a church, St. Andrew thought, though the last time he had been to one he had been…

_…a despicable brat. No doubt you take after your father. Boorish child_.

St. Andrew snorted. Why the hell was he thinking of _her_? Small wonder why he hadn't seen the inside of a church in ages. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the nasty reminders of his childhood down and took a closer look around.

The hall was spacious and airy, with windows set high into the walls. St. Andrew didn't see the point to this. Midgar's sky was so polluted that the best anyone could hope for was a hazy mist through which the sun made a valiant attempt at breaking through; not exactly the cheery, conducive colours that gave a person a sense of benediction or peace. Large columns held up the vaulted ceiling, which was painted with a mural depicting pastoral scenes filled with people of different races working in harmony at ploughing fields, going on hikes and other activities St. Andrew supposed were meant to represent cooperation towards fostering humankind as a whole. The floor itself was also a mosaic, this one of a woman and man surrounded by children. Their hands were outstretched, and the children reached for them. It wasn't clear to St. Andrew just what was being offered here, but the message, soft as it was, was clear enough to him. Community service. The brotherhood of humanity. All that good stuff that painted the world as a place where sufferings were healed, where problems were short-lived and easily-fixed; a world, St. Andrew concluded, of deluded fantasy.

Scowling, his eyes left the floor. Places like this made him pessimistic. He should just search the place and leave as soon as possible.

He was just heading for the exit when a woman entered the building. They collided. The contents of the woman's bag spilled, making various noises as they made contact with the floor. St. Andrew muttered an apology, and the woman, taking one look at him, started. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –" she stammered. St. Andrew just shook his head, irked. Man, this place was really getting to him. Normally he wouldn't have minded if a pretty woman bumped into him, but he found himself having to bite back a sharp, "Watch where the hell you're going." Which was just as well, because the woman was practically falling all over herself to pick her things up. With a sigh, St. Andrew bent over to help her.

"Oh, no! I – thank you." The woman redoubled her efforts. St. Andrew in the end could only stand and watch as she tossed everything back into her back and practically sprinted off. What the hell had that been about?

Shrugging, St. Andrew ran a hand through his hair. Ah, well. It wasn't his business what others thought of him. Wearing this suit, a person couldn't exactly expect the best of reactions all the time. Moving forward again, he made to leave.

_Crunch. _St. Andrew looked down. Oh, hell.

There was a tiny disc in a plastic case that was currently lying in pieces under his foot. It must have belonged to that woman. Glaring, he picked the disc up. It was a little scratched up, but the casing had by and large protected it.

He thought about just leaving it. After all, he wasn't really in the mood to be charitable, least of all in places like this. On the other hand – St. Andrew frowned. There had been something off about her behaviour. It was sort of the reaction Turks got from time to time, but from Midgar's own citizens, that was kind of rare. It couldn't hurt to check things out just a little more (and he really didn't want to go to Sector 2 – the very idea was giving him the chills).

Decision made, he went in the direction the woman had gone. Down the hall he walked, looking at the doors on either side of the corridor. They were all the same, though some of them had signs tacked up, written on paper. 'THE CHOCOBO BREEDERS SOCIETY MEETING, 6 P.M.' one sign in bright blue read. A few doors down, there was another sign which proclaimed that in that room lessons were being offered Cactuar cookery.

Hanging a right at the end of the hall, St. Andrew looked around but found no trace of the woman. Damn. His eyes followed the end of this hall to a set of stairs that lead up. He frowned, then shrugged. Oh, what the hell. He might as well see what else was on offer here. Who knows? He might run into that woman again somewhere in the building.

But there was nothing. The closest thing he found was a shut door with a white sheet of standard A4 paper tacked to it that proclaimed:

'THE PLANTERS SOCIETY PRESENTS SEMINAR: CHOOSE LIFE TODAY! THE LIFESTREAM AND HOW IT AFFECTS HUMANKIND. SPECIAL SPEAKER: F. KARIYA.'

The meeting was scheduled for early that evening. St. Andrew read the paper again, brows knitting together. "The Lifestream and how it affects humankind," he muttered. Hadn't Veld said that AVALANCHE had started in Cosmo Canyon from a bunch of people concerned with planet studies and the Lifestream and all that?

His phone rang. Well, speak of the devil.

"What's your situation?" Veld. Taking several steps away from the door, St. Andrew gave his report.

"I see. St. Andrew, I want you there at that meeting tonight. Send me your survey data and I'll have other agents checking into other sections of the city. This lead could be something important."

So St. Andrew did was told, sending the largely unfinished list of buildings he had been ordered to check out back to HQ. He grinned. A little recon was better by far than trawling the streets sector by sector. He was kind of looking forward to this.

--

He came at a quarter to six to the memorial hall once more, this time dressed in a hooded top, jeans and a messenger bag carrying his weapon, supplies, a recording device and an extra set of clothes to hide the contents of his bag should someone peek and to muffle the sound of the other devices within. Climbing the stairs, he arrived in front of the door he'd stopped at earlier. This time, he pushed it open.

The place looked like a classroom, St. Andrew thought with distaste. Ifrit, this building was just pushing up the whole spectrum of awful childhood memories. There were desks with chairs attached. They were all in rows. The floor was that same white linoleum. There was even a blackboard and a clock on the wall directly above it. St. Andrew shuddered.

The people in the room had turned to look up at him when he entered. He slouched, avoiding their glances, and slumped into a seat, spreading his legs out before him. Rummaging in his bag, he took out a notebook and pen and began to doodle. After a while, the buzzing of conversation started up again, and St. Andrew took the opportunity to look around.

They – the people in the classroom – reminded St. Andrew of the very people he'd once made a living off of, back in his first gang: fairly affluent young people who lived in comfortable houses and probably drove to work, even if they lived but a short distance from it. They were exactly the kind of people who would want the experience of slumming without having to set foot in said slums. Unconsciously, his lower lip curled into a sneer.

He'd gone through three pages of his notebook as the room filled and the buzzing of voices grew louder. Lots of women, a good number of men, mostly in their twenties to forties, though there were a good-sized number of older people and even some children. St. Andrew continued to sketch in his monster – a dragon with wings that spanned out on either side of its body. It was only when the room suddenly fell into a hush that St. Andrew bothered to look up – and he nearly fell off his chair.

There had been a photograph clipped to the report on the three AVALANCHE leaders. Here was one of them, in the flesh. Medium height. A bit on the thin side. Glasses. Wearing a diamond-checked sweater in shades of navy and salmon pink. Even through his shock, he felt a bubble of laughter trying to work its way up his throat, and it was only staunched by ducking his head and approximating a grunting cough.

When he looked up again, Fuhito was at the front of the room, gazing at the people in seated at their desks. Quietly, St. Andrew turned another page in his notebook and began to write.

The meeting ended at seven. St. Andrew got up with the others, but didn't stay to linger. Pulling the hood of his top up, he slouched his way out of the classroom and into the hallways. As he left the building, he pulled out his PHS. Finding the number he was looking for, he waited. One ring. Two rings.

"Hey, it's me." A pause. "Yeah. You were right." His mouth twisted ironically as he spoke the code phrase he and Tseng had agreed upon. "The aliens have landed."

--

Tseng listened to St. Andrew's pronouncement about aliens. After a brief moment, he nodded. "Good job. Return to headquarters for a full debriefing." Hanging up, he looked at the map of the world that was currently displayed on his computer screen. Moving his mouse to where Midgar was located, he clicked. A small red dot appeared in the spot he'd clicked on, joining a number of corresponding red dots scattered in different places around the world. One in Midgar. Another in Junon. Yet another in Cosmo Canyon. He didn't doubt that by the time the survey was complete, there would be a profusion of red dots in every significantly populated city and town in the world.

_How did AVALANCHE get this far without us noticing?_ The thought was troubling, and Tseng stared at the dots for several moments, his mind whirring with the information he had received. They had started up in Cosmo Canyon. Initially they had been a group that had studied the movements of the planet's rhythms. How planets were born, how they lived, how they died. Naturally those studies had extended to how those principles also applied to life on this planet, and it had only been a matter of time before what had been a group of people interested in planetary studies had morphed into a collective with a consciousness. A consciousness that had decided that mako was dangerous and unacceptable. A consciousness that had moved beyond word into action. A consciousness that had become AVALANCHE.

The fact that they were siphoning money like this from locations all over the world was indicative of a larger plan in the works; of that Tseng was sure. What the plan involved was anyone's guess. A call came in. Tseng picked up. After a few moments, he hung up the phone again and this time clicked on Mideel. They had penetrated the southern island regions as well.

After half an hour of trying to work out something concrete from the data on the screen and piled around his desk, Tseng stood up, leaving his office. Coffee sounded really good about now.

"How is the reconnaissance progressing?"

Tseng turned around to face his superior, shaking his head. "There's not a place on the planet AVALANCHE hasn't reached, it seems." He gestured to the coffee machine. "Shall I prepare a cup?"

"No." Veld handed Tseng a file. "We've received additional data from the soldiery. You used epidemic as an analogy. You can't imagine how close to that you are."

Tseng glanced at the file. "I take it there have been more sightings?"

"Sightings, yes. And defections." Veld's face was impassive. "We've been infiltrated."

He should have expected it, but he was startled nonetheless. "How long has this been going on?"

The older man shrugged, rubbing at his chin, though whether in thoughtfulness or weariness, Tseng couldn't say. "We can't say for certain, but one thing is clear: AVALANCHE's indoctrination has spread far and wide. We never could discount the possibility that sympathy might spill over into action." He jerked his head at the file. "What's in that file is proof enough of that."

Tseng nodded, sipping his coffee. The bitter liquid – lukewarm – Tseng noted with distaste, slid down his throat. Their work had gotten that much harder. It looked like he would be here a while.

Dumping the contents of his mug down the sink, Tseng began searching the cupboards for the bag of ground beans. If he was going to stay here, he may as well make sure he had a proper cup of brew.

--

Samantha ran as fast as she could, ignoring the heat and the stitch that had become a permanent feature in her side. She had to get the rest of those fugitives back. Her pride wouldn't consider any alternative. As she rounded a bend, she came face to face with three of the escapees. One of them Samantha recognized as King. They turned around when they heard her footsteps. The escapee to the right of King made a noise. "It's the Turks! They're already here!"

"Damn it!" shouted the other fugitive. "Where the fuck is that AVALANCHE ship?!"

"All right," Samantha shouted. "You three – get back on the boat!" She was in no mood to argue, and she still had to find the AVALANCHE vessel. She raised the gun in her hands.

She saw them whispering amongst each other and blew out an explosive breath, rolling her eyes. Obviously they were plotting how best to take her down. Her eyes flitted to King, who watched her, his dark eyes gleaming with a light best described as cunning. He still thought he had a chance. Turning her attention back to the others, who had by now broken out of their impromptu huddle, she cocked her head. "Well?"

As one, they turned. And then the fight began. Samantha ducked, backing up as a punch aimed at her face whistled by her. She kicked out with a foot, taking the man down. King used that opportunity to deliver a roundhouse sweep, which caused her to stumble. The third man tried to overpower her, attempting to wrestle her weapon from her grasp. Samantha's eyes narrowed. "Fire!"

With an agonised scream, the man let go of her. King delivered a punch that temporarily blinded Samantha as she saw white, then fuzzy shapes in her line of vision. Ugh. He was still so much stronger than her. She reacted just in time to ward off the follow-up to the first attack. "Shield!" she practically screamed. The force the barrier now between her and her adversary was so strong that King actually stumbled back a few steps. Samantha refocused her barrier.

She followed up with an ice spell. At that moment, she felt the materia in its slot tingle. A huge chunk of ice – larger, and from the chill that ran down her back – colder than her previous ice attacks, encased King. He stood within his crystalline prison, frozen. And then the ice shattered, the pieces flying everywhere. The debris sliced into King's flesh and the man roared, sinking to one knee. Before he had time to consider his next move, she was pointing her shotgun at his chest. He crumpled, unconscious, as the sleeping dart felled him.

For several moments, Samantha looked down at him, breathing heavily. A shrill chirrup broke her out of her trance, and almost absently, she fished out her PHS. Exhaling deeply, she picked up.

"Samantha. Come back to the vessel."

Her heart skipped. That was Rude's voice.

"Rude!! You're okay!"

"Yeah. Hurry." And then he hung up. Samantha blinked. Staring at her now closed phone, her mind reeled. Rude was alive.

And he had hung up on her without so much as giving her a chance to say anything.

She blew a raspberry at the phone, sticking out her tongue. "Yeah. Hurry," she mimicked, in an approximation of his baritone. Then she laughed. "Yeah. Great that you're all right, Rude." And she ran back toward where the Shin-Ra vessel was docked.

--

When she got back to the ship, Rude was outside, waiting for her. She waved, happy to see him alive and more or less whole. Skipping over the bruise purpling the side of his face, she stopped a few feet in front of him, smiling.

"There you are…" he rumbled, "We've got most of the candidates back."

"Hm," Samantha murmured, looking Rude over, checking for any more injuries. "Speaking of, where's Reno?"

"He's still out there looking for the last of the runaways."

Samantha nodded. She was about to open her mouth when Rude's PHS rang.

Rude listened as whoever was on the other end presumably spoke. Samantha tapped her foot against the concrete, looking around. Finally, with a word in the affirmative, he hung up. Samantha looked up. "Rude, was that Tseng?"

"The AVALANCHE boat is docked along the beach," he said in answer.

He was shifting slightly, looking uncomfortable. Samantha didn't see what there was to be fidgety about. This was it! They had retrieved most of the candidates; all that was left to do was to find AVALANCHE and trounce them! Blood pumped furiously in her veins at the thought of a good fight.

"So if we go to the beach, we ought to find the last of those candidates," she said excitedly. "Let's go!"

She had only gone a few steps when she realized two things. The first of them was that Rude hadn't made to follow her. The second was that, even as she turned around to yell at him to get a move on, he was swinging his fist at her.

The blow brought Samantha down as easily as if she were a domino. As her legs gave way beneath her, Samantha struggled with the blurred vision and the painful spots swimming before her eyes. She thought she heard Rude say something like "I'm sorry" but she couldn't be sure, and in any case, she was going down, down into the depths and soon, she was aware of nothing but the blackness.

--

Rude stared down at the unconscious form of his comrade. She wasn't even twitching. With a small wave of regret, he thought that he shouldn't have hit her so hard. As it was, she was probably going to have a blinding headache when she woke up.

She wouldn't understand why he had done what he did. Truth be told, he wasn't a hundred percent sure that knocking her out had been the best course to take. He only knew that what Shears had done could not stand, and that the Turks always avenged their own. He had been telling Samantha the truth when he said they weren't here to pick fights, but this wasn't a mere fight. He hoped she would understand… in time.

Adjusting his gloves, Rude glanced more one time at Samantha's prone form, then left for the beaches.

He'd reached the bottom of the stairs that lead to the beach when an amused voice caught him short.

"Are you going alone?"

The lazy, can't-be-bothered drawl could only come from one person. Rude raised his eyebrows. He was faster than usual.

Reno stepped forward, pushing himself off the wall of one of the villa houses. He smirked at his partner. "The beach, right?"

Rude didn't answer. It didn't pay to, and in any case, Reno was far too good at filling in the gaps without any assistance.

"What a surprise. I was just on my way to the beach myself."

Rude shrugged. "…don't let me stop you."

"Thanks." Reno grinned, his expression one of unwholesome relish. "I won't."

They got to the beach just as the sun was setting, an orange ball sinking into the watery horizon. Seabirds called to each other in farewell. Beachgoers had by and large gone back to the resorts and the pubs. The sound of the waters lapping at the sands reached their ears, a soothing backdrop punctuated by drifts of laughter and bird calls. It would have been a scene straight out of postcard if it hadn't been for the confrontation that was waiting for them.

There, on the pale sands, stood Shears, his hands shoved into his pockets. He watched as they stopped some distance from him, his expression unsurprised. When they had stopped, he shook his head, kicking at the sand.

"Have you come to get your asses beaten again? You people never learn."

From beside him, Rude felt the aura beside him change. Although his form was still slouched casually, his hands, like Shears, in his pockets, Rude caught the glint in the Reno's eyes. He didn't need a dictionary to translate that glint. It clearly said 'that fucker is going down'. With exaggerated care, Reno took out his weapon. "You talk too much," he said lowly, eyeing Shears with the hungry look of a starved wolf finding prey in its den.

"Fine." Shears crashed his fists together. He eyed them both, a look of mixed derision and determination on his face. "We'll finish this, since it's what you two want. You'll feel the extent of my full power to your bones!"

"It's the other way around," Reno said, moving around so that he was some distance from Rude. The two of them exchanged glances; Rude nodded.

Rude ran at Shears, pulling his fist back. "We…"

"-came here to win!" Reno finished. Shears dodged Rude's punch, retaliating with one of his own. He swatted Reno away easily, as if he were an inconsequential but annoying mosquito. He threw back his head and laughed, spitting on the ground.

"Do you get it now? Neither of you are a match for me!" He shook his head, disbelieving. "Come on. That stuff about Turks being deadly adversaries? You pulled that bullshit out of your asses, didn't you?"

"You may be strong…" Rude conceded. He caught Reno's grin out of the corner of his eye and returned the expression with a small close-lipped smile of his own. Ready. Steady. Go.

"But!" Reno shouted, taking a run at Shears. His EMR flickered, an electric crackle filling the air. Shears grinned, raising his fists to meet Reno's onslaught. Reno, however, had a different idea. Dancing nimbly out of the burlier man's reach, he cackled. Shears whipped around to follow him. That gave Rude just the opening he needed.

Shears stumbled from the force of Rude's punch. Again Shears spun around to counter, but in his moment of anger, he'd forgotten about Reno, who now closed the distance so that Shears was trapped between the two Turks.

"We…" Reno drawled, spinning his EMR around in an arc.

"…have no intention of losing," Rude finished bringing one gloved fist down onto the ground beneath his feet. At the same moment, Reno let loose with a fantastic arc of lightning that shot from his weapon and encased Shears. At that moment, the shockwave from Rude's own attack reached Shears. The man was caught by the simultaneous attacks. His body jerked as it was seized, caught in an electrified landslide. When the attacks subsided, fell stiffly to one knee with an abortive grunt.

Over the head of their stunned foe, Reno shot Rude a grin. _Damn right_, it said. _Nobody but_ nobody _messes with the Turks_.

They turned their attention back to Shears, who was getting up with some difficulty. Reno grinned, tapping his EMR against his shoulder. "Had enough? Or did you want some more?" he taunted.

Shears gritted his teeth, staring at them with undiluted hatred. "I won't forget this," he hissed. "This isn't over!" He got up. Reno and Rude got into ready stances, in case Shears wanted to try his luck again, but the man only tottered away, shooting them filthy glances. After shooting each other a quick glance – _do we finish this?_ – they let Shears go. Let him lick his wounds. He would definitely be back. And the next time, they would _really_ show him just how stupid an idea it was to mess with the Turks.

The beach was quiet once more. Reno took a few steps toward the ocean. He shoved his hands back into his pockets, his EMR once again compacted and stowed away. He jiggled his pockets for a moment, then came out with a tatty pack of cigarettes. Taking one out, he fished the EMR out again, raising an eyebrow. Rude shook his head. The redhead was just crazy enough to try it, electrocution be damned.

"Here." Rude took a lighter out of his own pocket, which Reno accepted with a nod of thanks.

Several minutes passed, minutes in which the sun sank lower, the sky changing from orange to grapefruit red and starting to tinge over with darker shades of velvet blue on the horizon. The birds had stopped calling now, but the sounds of partygoers and creole music filtered down onto the beach. The waves moved according to their own rhythm, gently swaying back and forth over the sands.

"It looks like we were able to return the favour…" Rude started. Then he snorted. "You're always going off half-cocked. Be more careful next time." He watched the waters lap back and forth. Beside him, he heard another soft 'snickt'. Reno had lit up another cigarette.

"Right back at you, Rude. I wasn't the only one in trouble there. What would you have done without me?" Rude could practically hear the shit-eating grin. He didn't need to be looking at Reno to see it.

"…dunno." The truth was, Rude really didn't know. He had gone off to find Shears on his own, or so he had thought. Unconsciously, though, he had known that he wouldn't be fighting alone. The longer he thought about it, the surer he became that yes, Reno would have come. He told his partner this.

"Why's that?" He seemed genuinely interested in hearing the answer. Rude smiled. They'd been partners for a very long time. Reno knew as well as Rude did "why's that". Nevertheless, Rude obliged with the answer.

"I've known you for a long time. I know how you think."

Reno affected a tone of mocked outrage. "Hey! I'm a lot more unpredictable than that!" And he threw back his head and laughed.

They stood together, watching the sun set over the postcard perfect beach.

_To be continued… _


	23. Some Days It Doesn't Pay to Get Up

Before Crisis: The Beginning

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

* * *

Disclaimer: 'Tis owned by Square-Enix, not me.

**Chapter 23: Some Days, It Doesn't Pay to Get Up**

St. Andrew was dreaming again. He had been a boy again living with his parents, who were both still whole. They'd been talking about what to do that weekend, when a faint ringing sound broke through their conversation. And suddenly, the house and his parents were melting away, replaced by his aunt, though she wasn't his aunt as he remembered her. Aunt Louella had been a cold, pinched-faced old hag; this woman had his aunt's features, but he knew for a fact Louella would never have done up her hair in bright bubblegum pink. Nor would she have worn a bikini with a bunny tail on.

As he watched in horror, Louella approached him, her hips swaying in a lascivious rhythm. He gulped as she pressed her chest into his face. She opened her mouth.

_Ding_.

With that ringing noise, the scenery changed again. Now he was in bed, just like he was supposed to be. Except that there was someone there with him. St. Andrew opened his mouth and made a yelping noise.

Wait. A yelping noise?

He tried to sit up, but found himself falling down again as his four legs tried and failed to coordinate.

_Four legs? _His panic mounting, St. Andrew looked down. In place of arms and legs were four fur-covered appendages which were awkwardly scrambling, trying to gain some ground. With each attempt he failed, only managing to mess up the sheets of whoever's bed he was in. Why the hell was he here? Why in the name of the gods was he a puppy?

Unfortunately, his thoughts seemed to vocalize in the form of several yips and barks, so the person sleeping in the bed woke up. There was a groan, a stirring as sheets moved, and the person sat up, blinkingly sleepily. St. Andrew's heart right about abandoned him at this point. _Samantha?!_

"Augh!"

Now he was in a darkened room. Whipping his head around frantically, St. Andrew looked around. It looked familiar; this was his room. A second thought made him jerk, and now he yanked the sheets off of himself, looking down to check. He breathed a sigh of relief. He had human legs. He was definitely awake this time. Maybe.

He was just about to reach out to pinch his arm when the ringing sound came again. St. Andrew jumped a mile, expecting something horrible to happen, but the ringing only continued. His head whipped around, settling on the black PHS dancing on his bedside table. Immediately he reached out a hand for it.

"I'm going to install a special alarm, just for you," Tseng's voice said sharply. "Do you have any idea how many times I tried to call you?"

"Uh…" St. Andrew rubbed at his head with one hand. No…? He didn't dare vocalize that, however, choosing instead to mutter an apology. It wasn't his fault he was a deep sleeper and Tseng called at the most godforsaken hours ever known to man. Didn't he ever sleep? St. Andrew didn't vocalize any of this either, instead focusing his mental effort on trying to get what Tseng was saying through his sleep-soaked brain. Eventually it got through.

"Right," St. Andrew said at that. "I'll be there in…" He thought. "Half an hour," he decided. "Sorry, Tseng, but that's the fastest I can move. The others are gonna have to wait." He mostly ignored the other man's sharp reprimands; it was nothing he hadn't heard before, and instead he began the search for his trousers.

By the time St. Andrew made it to the train station that was to serve as the rendezvous point for his next mission, it was six in the morning. He was supposed to be escorting some Shin-Ra scientist, though what Tseng had said was that the it wasn't the scientist that was so important, but what she had with her: a disk with classified, top secret data on the company's SOLDIER branch.

"The mainframe which normally houses the data is being moved; there's been some trouble, and the company doesn't want to take any chances," Tseng had explained. When St. Andrew asked why they didn't just use a secure channel to send the stuff through the company's intranet, Tseng had gone through another lengthy explanation involving interception of signals, of "unstable elements" in the company's ranks, and so on.

"Everything's on a need-to-know basis," Tseng had concluded at last. "You and Laylee aside, nobody else knows about the true nature of this mission." As far as the regular soldiers assigned as part of the scientist Laylee's guard were concerned, they were escorting her because she herself was in danger from hostile elements… which would undoubtedly be quite true if AVALANCHE or another enemy organization were to find out about just what kind of payload she was carrying on her person.

As the six o'clock train rolled into the station, St. Andrew took the opportunity to look around. At this hour there were mostly only Shin-Ra employees boarding in order to get to the company in time for work. And there, on the far side of the platform, was the escort: three soldiers in uniform, and one woman in a blue one-piece dress.

Walking over to them, St. Andrew used the seconds he had in closing the distance to size the group up. The soldiers were all wearing masks, save one blonde boy who couldn't have been a day over fifteen if St. Andrew wasn't mistaken. As far as Shin-Ra Company grunts went, they were unremarkable, though the wide-eyed look the boy was sporting, along with his nervously darting eyes wasn't exactly what St. Andrew liked to see, especially on a mission that could possibly turn quite ugly under the right – or wrong – circumstances. _Maybe that's why the others are wearing masks_, he thought. The thought did little to cheer him.

The scientist – Doctor Laylee – was standing with her hands at her sides, her expression neutral. St. Andrew had his doubts as to whether she'd be able to defend herself should the need arise, and, coupled with the soldiers, St. Andrew realized with a weary resolve, it would probably be all on him to do the job. Great. Dandy. Sighing, he whipped his PHS out of his pocket.

"I'm at the station," he said.

"And Doctor Laylee?"

"She's already here," St. Andrew replied, flicking his eyes over at the group.

Tseng went over the mission once more, driving home the point, not for the first time, that the disk's safety was paramount. St. Andrew had the distinct feeling that if it came between the Doctor and the disk, it wouldn't be much of a contest as far as Shin-Ra's execs were concerned. He sneered inside. Well done, Shin-Ra! St. Andrew may not have been the most scrupulous human being on the planet, but even he hadn't sold his boys out in the run-ins with other gangs. He supposed that was why Shin-Ra had beaten him: it took a kind of ruthlessness that he didn't have in order to scrabble your way to the top. Grudgingly, St. Andrew thought that he might yet have something to learn, at least as far as that was concerned.

Pushing that thought aside, he approached the waiting escort. He introduced himself, noting the shuffling of the soldiers. The blonde one narrowed his eyes a little. St. Andrew had heard that for all that Shin-Ra was a large corporation there were rifts and a competitiveness bordering on hostility between its subdivisions. Soldier versus SOLDIER. Turks versus the average Shin-Ra grunt. It was all a fight for recognition and territory, which St. Andrew could understand. Maybe that was why he didn't bother with returning the boy's glare, focusing instead on his charge, the good doctor. For her part, her neutral expression changed to one of slight relief.

"The pleasure is mine," she said in response to St. Andrew's introduction. "I feel safer knowing that the Turks are here." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soldiers shift some more, and the boy's jaw tighten.

"Let's go," St. Andrew said shortly. He didn't think there would come a day when he'd be the one thinking that someone else was being childish, but let's face it – the Turks were the best at this kind of thing – all that special training wasn't for nothing. And the attitude of the soldiers, combined with his earlier assessment of him only solidified this thought in his mind.

They'd only been walking the short distance to the end of the platform – there would be a train arriving shortly that was 'out of service', which would take them to the location of the newly relocated mainframe – when there came voices. St. Andrew whirled around.

Well, that had been fast. AVALANCHE members were shouting at each other from the other end of the platform, gesturing at the escort. How had they come here so fast, anyway? Behind him, the soldiers moved into position, surrounding Laylee. St. Andrew took a step forward.

It was like one of those showdowns on those old programs he had watched as a kid: the two sides coming to a stop mere feet in front of each other, sizing each other up before turning around and walking those ten paces before the duel. The AVALANCHE members were all hooded and masked, preventing St. Andrew from identifying any distinguishing features, but he knew determination when he saw it. One of the enemy operatives took out a weapon. Doctor Laylee let out a scream.

"Hey, stay cool, doc. We'll clean this up real fast." His eyes flicked to the soldiers, who had readied their own weapons. Next in this duel came the sizing up, he supposed.

"Give us the woman if you don't want to die," a brown-clad operative said, tilting his weapon meaningfully.

"There's no way we're going to let you have her!" the blonde shouted. St. Andrew cringed. Wow. Talk about clichéd. Ignoring that, he merely eyed the AVALANCHE contingent, letting the boy's words penetrate. Now that the challenge was out, he might as well wait to see what happened. There was no point in expending unnecessary breath himself.

"I see you want to do this the hard way," the lead operative said. Holy hell. Where did they learn lines like these? They'd been watching far more of those dramas than St. Andrew ever had, that was for sure.

Ten paces time. Both sides raised their weapons. St. Andrew had already released his EMR from its compact state. He kept an eye on the opposition. They were moving forward.

And it was showtime. St. Andrew moved forward, swinging out, scattering the enemy. Whirling back on his heel, he aimed a low sweep at one of the operatives, making him stumble a bit. One of the soldiers took that opportunity to crack that same operative on the head. He went down with a thump. St. Andrew looked up.

It was the blonde. St. Andrew's eyes narrowed. Not bad. But still, their primary job was protecting Laylee. The other two soldiers were there by her side to deflect any attacks that came her way, but this kid –

"Back off, kid. You're in the way!" St. Andrew barked. He gestured with one arm and jerked his chin at the escort. Why weren't they moving the doctor to a safe place? Why were they just standing there?! He glared at the blonde, who glared right back.

"No," he said, hefting his gun, turning it onto another operative. "We're here to protect the doctor, too."

Well, duh. St. Andrew snorted. That was the whole point. It would be better if they got the doctor out of harm's reach and just let him to his job. Now wasn't the time to argue about it though, so St. Andrew merely told the kid not to go and get himself hurt; the last thing he needed was anybody taking themselves out due to gross stupidity.

"And one more thing," the blonde said. "The name's not 'kid'. It's Cloud."

"Right." With the pleasantries out of the way, St. Andrew supposed they ought to finish this fight and get Laylee out of here as fast as possible. AVALANCHE was already onto them; doubtless they were going to throw more than just these few pieces of trash at them.

The kid – Cloud – really was a useless fighter though. He spent more time dodging blows and awkwardly trying to line up shots with his rifle than actually doing any damage. With dismay, St. Andrew watched as one shot from Cloud's rifle pinged off a lamppost and ricocheted into the area below the platform. Rosie or Rafe or even that loud-mouthed Samantha would never make that big a mistake, not even in their sleep. _Shiva help me_, he thought. With a swing of his arm, an arc of lightning hit the man Cloud was fighting straight in the chest. St. Andrew dealt with the last operative with brute force, using a combination of his fists and EMR to knock him down. To his chagrin, though, a shot rang out and St. Andrew turned around to find Cloud staring at the operative lying twitching on the ground.

Okay, so he wasn't all that useless with that gun. Grudgingly, St. Andrew titled his head in thanks. Cloud nodded back coolly. Turning back to the escort, which had drawn back some marginal distance away from the fray, he started to walk forward to join them. Shrugging, St. Andrew threw over his shoulder, "Hey, things turned out all right. Just don't overdo it, Cloud, yeah?"

"…right," the boy mumbled. Looking back, St. Andrew grinned.

"Well, let's get going then. No point sticking around here waiting for more of those goons to show up, right?"

"Yeah." Cloud straightened, and, adjusting his rifle, passed St.Andrew, running to rejoin the group. St. Andrew took up the rear, keeping an eye out for any more sources of disturbance. The train they needed wasn't here yet. Glancing at his watch, he whistled. That whole skirmish had happened in under five minutes. The train would get here in the next minute and a bit. To St. Andrew's mind this was cutting it fine; anything could happen in a minute. AVALANCHE was all the proof one needed of that.

And sure enough, voices were ringing out again.

"Oi! We've found the doctor! After her!!"

"Tch." St. Andrew clicked his tongue against his teeth, annoyed. If Junon was any indication, AVALANCHE would doubtless have pulled out all stops and sent a whole legion here. Turning around to face the enemy, St. Andrew readied his EMR once more. "You guys aren't getting through," he said lowly.

An operative just in front of him made a derisive sound. "You might want to look at your situation before you go saying stupid things like that." With a barked order, St. Andrew found himself surrounded on all sides by operatives. He saw that several more were running toward the escort. Shit.

"Fuck. Surrounded, huh." St. Andrew sized his opponents up. Some carried guns, some carried melee weapons like knives and sticks. Others were raising their fists up at him. And those other operatives were getting closer to the doctor with every passing second. He didn't have time for this. Holding his EMR out lengthwise, he spoke a short spell. With his opponents out for the count, St. Andrew sprinted at the remaining men.

"Out of my way!" St. Andrew knocked one guy cleanly on the head, smashing another in the face. Where the hell had Laylee gone? She had just been there a second ago. Where the fuck was Cloud?

A scream cut through the air. There! St. Andrew picked up speed. There, at the end of the very end of the platform almost at where the barriers leading to the ticket gates were. Cloud and the others were covering Laylee, but from what St. Andrew could see, they weren't holding up well. They were fighting some operatives, and the operatives were clearly gaining the upper hand. Even as St. Andrew came on them, Cloud was jumping in front of one of his comrades yelling something. For his effort, the AVALANCHE operative clipped him with a bullet. Cloud staggered.

Looking beyond his adversary, Cloud spotted St. Andrew and yelled to his comrades. "I'll handle this. Take the doctor and run!"

St. Andrew thought for a moment of ignoring Cloud and helping out. The escort hadn't really been holding up all that well with the three of them. Cloud alone couldn't possibly do better. St. Andrew knew where his priorities were supposed to be, and they were with the doctor – or rather, the information she carried. But…

Fuck this. St. Andrew ran at the operatives closing in on Cloud. The boy's eyes widened as though to ask what the hell he thought he was doing. "Go!" he shouted. "Laylee and the others have already gone ahead." But St. Andrew shook his head. The kid wasn't going to die on his watch, not if he could help it.

St. Andrew and Cloud made quick work of their adversaries. Catching his breath, St. Andrew looked over at the boy, narrowing his eyes.

_"Don't you look at me in that way, you ungrateful boy." There was a loud smacking noise, followed by the sound of feet stumbling back, of someone falling down. "You're exactly like your father. I don't see what Leanne saw in filth like him." The same voice took on an aggrieved tone. "She wouldn't be dead now if it wasn't for you! Get out! Get out of my sight, boy, before I do something I _really_ regret!"_

That was it. Cloud reminded him of him when he had been younger. It was the eyes, St. Andrew decided. They had that same determined resolve not to let anything stand in his way that St. Andrew had possessed when he'd been living with his aunt. It hadn't been long after that incident when St. Andrew had decided that enough was enough, and had left his aunt's house, to strike it out on his own.

So be it then. St. Andrew took a breath. "You really ought to be careful, you know. Throwing yourself headfirst into these things is good sometimes, but there's also the chance you'll get killed."

Cloud shifted. "I'm not… I'm not trying to be a hero or anything." He sounded defensive, uncomfortable. St. Andrew supposed Cloud was telling the truth: he really wasn't going out of his way to display his heroism; he honestly thought what he was doing was right, and for the best of everybody else here. Put simply, the boy was painfully naïve. St. Andrew didn't think he'd been quite that green, even when he was younger.

"It isn't just looking out for your buddies, you know. If you end up dead, they'll suffer just as much as if they'd taken the hit themselves. You can't always follow through." Sometimes you had to trust your mates to do their own thing. It was hard looking out for others and looking out for oneself sometimes. St. Andrew knew this all too well. He had looked after his boys long enough to know that. He also knew that the desire to _over_protect could be harmful. He wanted Cloud to know this. He wasn't exactly sure how to put it into words though, and he scratched at the back of his head, watching Cloud for a response.

"I… just…"

Whatever Cloud might have been about to say was cut short by another scream from Doctor Laylee. St. Andrew and Cloud turned simultaneously to see yet more AVALANCHE operatives come within range of the escort. St. Andrew swore.

There were three of them. Two of the ones in the brown jumpsuits he'd become used to seeing, and one in a black one. The guards immediately took up position in front of Laylee, using themselves as shields to protect her. The brown-jumpsuited operatives made to move forward, but the one in black held out an arm, stopping them. He seemed to stop for a moment, and then, with horrifying screams, the guards toppled right at Laylee's feet.

What the hell had that been? St. Andrew hadn't ever seen something like that. It had been a sort of smoky figure. It had looked kind of like a skeleton holding a scythe. There had been a flash of purplish-black light that came down in an arc, and then, the men had toppled over. What had happened there?

"Everyone…" Cloud muttered, his voice disbelieving. He picked up speed. St. Andrew yelled.

"Damn it kid, hold it! You wanna die!?" He was pretty sure that whatever that thing was, it hadn't just knocked the guards unconscious. Damn it! He ran faster.

By the time St. Andrew had reached Cloud, Laylee and the AVALANCHE operatives, Cloud was yelling that he'd never allow her to go with them. St. Andrew groaned. He was so dead. The black clad operative smirked, sparing only the briefest of glances at Cloud and St. Andrew.

"Don't move. If you do, she's dead."

St. Andrew stopped, gritting his teeth. Cloud made a frustrated noise. Just then, St. Andrew's PHS rang, buzzing in his pocket. All heads turned to look at him.

"Go ahead. Pick up the phone." The operative in black sounded gloating. "Tell them just what kind of situation you're in." The other two operatives, who were clearly lower in the hierarchy, laughed sycophantically. St. Andrew, teeth still grinding together, fished his phone out of his pocket.

"Report, St. Andrew."

Veld. "Laylee's been captured," he said, realizing as he spoke that he'd been clenching his jaw too hard. It twinged when he moved his mouth. It's AVALANCHE. They're using some kind of magic I've never seen before." He glanced at the dead soldiers. "It instantly killed two of the guards."

The Turk leader wasn't in the least happy, judging by the edge in his voice. St. Andrew grimaced. Why was everybody on him like this? It wasn't as though he'd made any tactical errors. This was just rotten, shit-ass luck.

"St. Andrew, you know what's at stake here," Veld was saying. You have to protect the SOLDIER data at all costs."

Yeah, but if he did that, everybody here would be as dead as the boys cooling at Laylee's feet. St. Andrew pointed this out in a low voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the operatives begin to move. They were coming around on either side of Laylee, taking her arms.

"Move," Veld ordered. "Even if there are casualties, we have to keep that disk safe. Can you do it, St. Andrew?"

Well, he _could_, though he couldn't exactly say he was one hundred percent willing. St. Andrew muttered an answer and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Tightening his grip on his weapon, he fingered the Materia slotted into it.

"Doctor Laylee, duck!"

Everyone whirled around to face him. Cloud's eyes widened. And then St. Andrew was forced to stop, because Cloud was turning his weapon on him, his expression one of furious disbelief. "What do you think you're doing?!" he yelled. St. Andrew's jaw tightened once more. So much for the element of surprise. He hadn't expected Cloud to do that – jump in front of Laylee and aim for the home team. The AVALANCHE leader laughed.

"It looks like it doesn't matter what happens to the woman."

"That's not true!!" Cloud said, looking desperately from St. Andrew to the operative. St. Andrew groaned inside. This was just great. Did he actually think he could bargain with these lunatics? They'd had no qualms about trying to blow up Midgar a while back. They weren't the type to negotiate.

St. Andrew pointed his EMR at the kid. "Move, Cloud!"

"I can't do that," Cloud said, that same look in his eyes from before. His voice was shaking, but he was looking at St. Andrew steadily. "If we make any sudden moves, the Doctor's life is in danger."

"Move!" St. Andrew snarled. Forget seeing a part of himself in the brat. He hadn't been this ridiculous, not now, not ever! "Don't interfere with my job, damn it Cloud! Move!"

There was the sound of metal screeching against metal. Fuck! The train! St. Andrew's grip on his EMR tightened. He advanced on Cloud. The doors to the train opened. And then the AVALANCHE operatives were dragging Laylee into the train. Cloud whirled around. The doors were closing. The train was starting to move. Cloud swore. Without a glace back, he jumped onto the train, skimming his way in just as the doors shut. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. St. Andrew watched the train go, swearing an entire litany of f-words in his head.

Now it was just him and the black-clad AVALANCHE leader. He had been watching the train, and now, as it left the platform, he turned his attention back to St. Andrew.

"A kid. We don't have to worry about him. You're a different story."

The stream of swear words bubbling around in St. Andrew's head grew more colourful.

"Death to the Shin-Ra!"

St. Andrew only just brought up his rod in time to deflect the downward stroke of his adversary's sword. As it was, this didn't seem to bother his enemy. The man just laughed and kicked out, catching St. Andrew in the midsection. St. Andrew stumbled back, trying to catch his breath and prepare for the next attack at the same time. As it was, all he could do was roll and swipe out, gasping, while his opponent leapt nimbly out of reach. The operative kept going, backing away even further out of reach. What the hell was he up to?

And then St. Andrew understood. He was standing back to cast a spell. It was probably that same spell which had taken down those soldiers.

The lucky thing about St. Andrew's EMR, however, was that it wasn't just a melee weapon. Reno had taught him a lot of the basics in those first weeks of training. In addition to being able to deliver physical blows, the EMR was configured to conduct electricity. St. Andrew remembered shocking himself with the damned thing when his finger had slipped on the switch that would turn the juice on. That electrical charge could be thrown out to a distance of up to 2.5 metres in a more or less straight arc, though as Reno had demonstrated, with enough practice, the direction could be manipulated to some extent.

But that wasn't the coolest bit. Reno had grinned, holding his own EMR sideways so St. Andrew could see the Materia slot.

_"See that? It's only got the one Materia slot. You can put anything you like in there. 'Course, as with any Materia, the more you use it, the more your weapon will take on that particular Materia's element. But if you put in a Lightning-based Materia..." _

And he had demonstrated how with a Thundaga Materia, the distance the attack covered could be much larger. There had been a sizzling hole taller than he was in the wall where they had been practicing.

St. Andrew grinned. Readying his attack, he calculated the angle he'd need to hit the enemy. He didn't have to think too hard, as it seemed like his opponent liked to stand still while casting magic. Summoning his will into the Materia, his grin widened.

A huge arc of golden light shot out from his weapon, surging with alarming speed toward the AVALANCHE operative. It hit its intended target, and St. Andrew watched with satisfaction as the body of the operative jerked and sizzled.

St. Andrew stood back to admire his handiwork. The man had crumpled, his clothes sizzling. Even from this distance, St. Andrew caught the stench of burnt fabric. But then, to his dismay, the man got back up.

No. That attack should definitely have killed him. How he could stand up was beyond reason.

The operative lifted his sword. St. Andrew ran at him. They met with an almighty clanging of metal against metal. St. Andrew pushed hard against the other guy, then, taking a step back, made a swipe at chest level. The operative stumbled back. So he wasn't completely unharmed. That was something. Maybe if he could line up another lightning shot…

A whistling sound rent the air. St. Andrew only got out of the way in time. The AVALANCHE operative snickered. St. Andrew swore. That sword had a longer reach than he thought. In retaliation, St. Andrew swung out his EMR which was dodged.

They kept on like that for a time, each man avoiding each other's attacks. St. Andrew had no idea how a man who had been so thoroughly electrocuted that his insides ought to be charred to juicy perfection could move so fast. What the hell was he made of? Frustrated, he swung out, but missed again. He had to do something else. Close range physical attacks just weren't going to work on someone as fast as this guy was.

Magic, then. St. Andrew had a couple of other Materia slotted into his bangle: Gravity and Comet. St. Andrew thought about the possibilities for a few moments, then grinned again. Why not? Nothing was half as fun without a challenge, right?

Swinging out once more with his EMR, his grin widened as the operative did exactly what he expected and jumped back. Then, before he could go on the offensive, St. Andrew called on his first spell.

The gravity spell did the trick. The operative was running, but in slow motion and on the same spot. The pull of gravity was slowing him down to the point where St. Andrew could move against him without any effort. He readied the lightning spell again.

This time it did the trick. St. Andrew watched with satisfaction as the man fell, sizzling and twitching. This time he didn't get up.

That just left the matter of recovering Laylee and that disk. Just as St. Andrew was thinking this, the phone rang. Veld. The man must have been psychic or something, St. Andrew thought as he explained the situation. They spoke for a while. Then –

"You want me to chase a train?!" St. Andrew exclaimed. The train had left some minutes ago. It ran considerably faster than he did. Had the boss accidentally inhaled something from Hojo's labs?

But Veld was being perfectly reasonable, as it turned out. Apparently there were service tunnels running under Midgar proper where the trains ran.

"There are paths you can use there," Veld explained. "Get down to the tunnels!"

St. Andrew flipped his phone closed and sighed. Damn, but this day was turning out to be long, and it wasn't even half over. Taking one last look at the dead operative, St. Andrew sprinted for the nearest access point. He had a train to catch!

_To be continued…_

* * *

_Author's Notes: _Wow. Thank you for the encouraging response to this story. I was pleasantly surprised considering how long it had been since the last update. So, to all those who put _Before Crisis: The Beginning_ on their author alerts or favourite story lists, thank you so much! I can only hope what I do in the future will please you. :)


	24. Run The Gauntlet

**_Before Crisis: The Beginning_**

**By DarkAngel**

_Disclaimer:_ The majority of this stuff belongs to Square-Enix. I only claim ownership of the original Turks' names and some theories/technicalities. This fic is not intended for profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 24: Run the Gauntlet**_

By the time St. Andrew caught up with the train, he was beat. He'd run through tunnel after tunnel to catch up with the train, only to find himself having missed it by seconds each time. This was his third go-round. He was had barely made it this time – the last car had just been passing him when he got out of the tunnel. With strength he hadn't thought possible, St. Andrew had run, practically throwing himself at the train. Scrabbling wildly, he had managed to grab onto the side of the train. From there it had been a not-so-easy climb to the top of the train, and from there inside.

Taking some moments to catch his breath, St. Andrew looked around. There was nobody here, as expected. Laylee and her captors were somewhere else. He wondered if Cloud was all right. The boy had jumped without hesitation onto the train as it was leaving; that same reckless behaviour might have gotten him killed. St. Andrew frowned at the thought.

After making a brief report to Veld, St. Andrew walked toward the end of the train car. In one of them was Laylee and that disk.

As soon as he opened the door, St. Andrew was greeted by AVALANCHE members. Well, not greeted exactly – they weren't standing there holding out welcome banners and party favours – but there were about half a dozen of them grouped together, talking in low voices. One of them looked up at the sound of the car door rolling shut behind St. Andrew. The spine of the operative stiffened and he pointed. "A Turk!"

The others looked round in his direction, startled. "Where was he hiding?!" another operative shouted.

"Who cares?" The first one who had picked up on his presence had by now regained his composure. "Kill him!" With those words they all took out weapons and began running at St. Andrew.

St. Andrew made quick work of his opponents. He knocked out the first operative and blasted the weapon out of the hand of a second operative with a well-placed lightning spell. The other four took a little time, only because they all came at him at once and it wasn't so easy to fight four against one, even for him. When he'd finished, there were six AVALANCHE operatives lying prone on the floor at his feet. The last operative he'd brought down groaned. St. Andrew rapped her smartly on the head with his weapon, then opened the door to the next car.

This car was, unlike the last one, empty. St. Andrew ran down the aisle, determined to get to Laylee and the others, even just that one second faster. He couldn't keep the dismal image of Cloud and the escort fighting to stave off AVALANCHE's attacks. He really hoped the kid wasn't dead.

A whizzing sound broke through St. Andrew's thoughts. He dived behind a set of seats, and just in time. Peering around the seat, he ducked again as another bullet came flying at his head. Damn! The bastard must have been hiding, lying in wait for St. Andrew. Annoyed at being caught off guard, he released a boosted lightning spell from his mag-rod. The operative went down with a sizzling thump.

Kicking the operative aside, St. Andrew paused at the door to the next compartment. What was waiting for him here?

He got his answer soon enough. The barrel of something large and nasty looking was staring him in the face from the other end of the train car. Manning said large and nasty thing was another operative.

"You won't get past my Wasp Shooter," the operative shouted, and with that, fired.

"Shit!" St. Andrew barely had time to get out of the way as a hail of bullets whizzed with incredible speed at him. Shiva, that had been too close. St. Andrew breathed hard, listening to the staccato bursts of the bullets as they gouged themselves into the wall some few feet from where his head had been. His heart was working double time in his chest, and his palms felt slick with sweat. Wiping his hand on his trousers and readjusting his grip on his weapon, he thought of how to proceed from here.

There was a space of about 1.5 feet between each set of seats. Depending on the timing between rounds, he could duck behind each set before the next round of bullets could reach him. It was a pretty risky tactic. But he needed to get close enough to damage his opponent, and unfortunately, the extended lightning trick Reno had taught him just didn't work from this far away. All he needed was to get a few feet closer…

Decision made, he stood up. A hail of bullets whizzed at him. St. Andrew ducked and waited. The moment the last bullet passed him, he stood up again. Another burst of deadly metal was sent his way.

Three seconds. It took three seconds between shots. That was cutting things really fine. If he missed even once, he would be Swiss cheese. By now his heart was beating so hard it was painful. He didn't often think about death, but sometimes in this job it was inevitable. It was just too damned bad he had to be having a moment _now_. Closing his eyes, he breathed, counting to ten. He peered around the corner to see if the operative was still manning the weapon, and got his response. _Pingpingpingping!_ The wall behind him now looked like a massacre without the blood. So far.

Fuck, this was stupid. _Why are you wearing this goddamned suit anyway?_ St. Andrew berated himself. _Because you wanted to be the best. And now you're whimpering and hiding here like some kid behind his mom's skirt. Ifrit, if Reno could see you now… _

The thought of the redhead smirking at him and shaking his head in that patronizing way he had was exactly what he needed. Within seconds he was standing up again, and when the chance came, he took it. As soon as the last bullet whizzed by him, St. Andrew was throwing himself into the next set of seats. Okay. Stage one cleared.

He did it twice more, each time throwing himself as fast and as far as he could out of the bullets' range. His shoulder twinged as he impacted with the wall, and his legs were bent upwards, squashed between the seats, but he found this position far preferable to the one he could be in – a giant spattered heap bleeding all over the floor.

Checking again, he found that he was just within 'shooting range', as it was. _The tables are turning_, he thought, a vicious grin stretching his features.

St. Andrew stood up. "Hey! Yeah, you, you son of a – " Rosalind would have cringed if she were here. The thought made St. Andrew grin wider. "I've got a surprise for you!" And with a flick of his wrist, lightning was hurtling right at his target – not at the operative, but at the blasted Wasp Shooter which had caused his moment of disequilibrium. The impact made a tremendous sound. St. Andrew ducked. The grin he'd been sporting grew to shit-eating proportions as the sounds of flying debris mingled with the alarmed squawk of the operative. As his aunt had been so fond of saying, it was always better to give than to receive.

He came out from behind the seats. Looking at his handiwork, he couldn't help but whistle. Wow. He hadn't any idea that this would happen. The floor was blackened in the area the explosion had occurred, the Wasp Shooter itself was in burnt pieces all over the floor. Shrapnel pockmarked the walls and seats around him. And the operative...

St. Andrew knelt down. Dead. Grimly, St. Andrew stood back up, and, after brushing himself off a little, moved on to the next compartment.

--

"Have you heard the news?"

Samantha wearily flipped up her eye mask and looked to the owner of the voice. Ugh. She'd just gotten back from a mission earlier that day. She'd been hoping to rest.

"No," she replied, covering her eyes once more and bringing her head back down onto the couch. The sounds of a television commercial filled her ears, and she prayed Rafe would take the hint and leave her alone. He was pretty good at reading signals, after all.

Not today, though, apparently. Sitting himself down beside her, he continued. "St. Andrew's latest mission. Things aren't going so well. And there's a new breed of AVALANCHE trooper out there."

Samantha found herself flipping her mask up again. Rafe was now reaching for the remote to change the channel, but she grabbed it from him. He raised his eyebrows. She glared. For some moments they were silent.

"Why did you come to tell me this? Can't you see I'm resting?" she snapped. The impact of her words would perhaps have carried more weight if she had said them sooner, and Rafe shrugged them off. Then again, he always seemed to shrug off what everybody else around him said, as if he wasn't part of the picture. She hated that about him.

"If you really wanted to be left alone, you would have gone to your room."

"I haven't had time to buy a TV," she shot back, but she grudgingly allowed Rafe to reach around her and take up the remote once more.

It was true, that part about the TV. Normally she would have outfitted her room with a lot more things by now if it wasn't for the fact that she just wasn't _around_ very much to think about home furnishings, and in any case, the TV here was just as good. She liked to come here when the others were out. This was her alone spot, and any Turk passing by who saw the mask over her face usually knew well enough to leave her alone. Still, Rafe had come to her for a reason.

"Well?" she said at last. "Are you going to tell me why you found it so important to tell me that?"

Rafe shrugged. The TV was showing a game of basketball. Samantha was about to tell him off, but Rafe beat her to it. "I just came back from HQ. I spent the last six hours digging up information about these new soldiers and AVALANCHE's funding… where they might be getting otherwise classified information." Rafe made a small gesture with his hand as though to say 'and all the rest'.

Samantha raised her head once more at that. "Come to think of it, how did AVALANCHE find out about Andrew's mission? That was only between us and the execs, wasn't it?"

"Exactly."

She stared at him for a few moments. "Okay," she said slowly. "But that still doesn't explain why you're here telling me all of this."

Rafe's mouth twitched. "Well, I've finished my work for the day. We're taking it in turns to sift through that data."

Her eyes narrowed. "Rosalind's next on that roster, not me."

"Rosalind's in Icicle just now. Which leaves –"

Samantha threw a couch cushion at his head. "Bastard!" The very last thing she wanted to do was pull herself up from this couch, get dressed and spend countless hours in front of a computer screen courting boredom. Besides, Rafe was the best at this whole information technology thing. Wouldn't it have just made more sense to allow Rafe to do the whole thing?

Nonchalantly, he replaced the cushion she had thrown behind his back, so as to better support himself. The look he shot her was one she would gladly have smacked off his face… but she closed her eyes and thought of inner poise. It wouldn't do for a Hartigan to go flying off the handle and making a… _display_. Breathing in deeply, she smiled at her partner.

"Fine. I'll go. Enjoy your evening."

Rafe made an indistinguishable sound from somewhere beneath his absorption with the basketball. She might as well have thrown the tantrum for all the attention he was giving her. She turned away, her hair flying behind her as she went. Men! Honestly, she wasn't sure just why she bothered.

As she got ready to go to the office, though, her thoughts wandered. This new breed of AVALANCHE obviously meant that they intended to step up their attacks against the Shin-Ra. While Samantha might not have been a direct part of her father's company, she knew enough about large organizations to recognize a few things. They were getting massive amounts of funding from somewhere, and it couldn't all be coming from those front groups AVALANCHE had going. That they were actually starting to divide their soldiers into different specialized troops was also significant – it reminded her of the way Shin-Ra operated, with its divisions between the general soldiery and SOLDIER. There were ideas and cash and gods knew what else flowing between AVALANCHE and some unknown supporter. This didn't all boil down to saving the planet and being environmental goody goodies. Samantha knew an ulterior motive when she saw one. The question was, how did you unravel all of this and find the puppet master behind the whole thing?

Samantha's lips curled upwards. Well, it might not have been on a grassy savannah or back in the woods of her home, but a hunt was a hunt. If there was one thing she was good at, it was marking her target and bringing down her prey. She could just imagine Shears' head mounted on her wall.

Feeling a whole lot better about this business with sitting at the computer, Samantha flicked her hair out from her jacket collar and spun around in a circle, checking to make sure she hadn't missed anything. Then, whistling, she left her apartment, letting the door click shut behind her.

--

There was nothing in Icicle except snow, snow, and maybe for variation's sake –

Oh, to hell with it. All there was was snow. Having grown up in the slums, Rosalind hadn't really had much experience with the white stuff. Plus, on the temperature side, winters had been fairly mild as well. The wind here bit into her skin and froze her blood. She was pretty sure that if she stood still for more than one minute, she'd just stick there forever, literally frozen to death.

Still, it was kind of nice, she mused, taking a sip of the cocoa she'd brought up to her room. After all, this was the first time she'd seen snow, and the flakes were kind of pretty when observed from her hotel room window. If only she could have stayed indoors for the entirety of her mission, she might have appreciated the snow a little more. After all, it wasn't as though she had anything against it, but the cold that went with it had really caught her by surprise.

It was just as well that she was coming home soon anyway. She'd finished up her surveys of the few towns with any significant population and had found only one case she'd call anything resembling suspicious. She'd just been typing up her report to send to Tseng when the hotel manager had come knocking on her door, telling her that her ride back was delayed indefinitely.

"It's the snow, ma'am," the man had explained apologetically. "We're getting a storm front heading this way in the next few hours, and all transports in and out are locked down."

Rosalind blinked. Surely on a continent which was used to dealing with inclement weather there were ways and means to get around?

"But flying in a blizzard isn't what I'd call conducive to long life, ma'am," the man said, shrugging, still looking apologetic. "I know you were set to leave, but people have died out in the storms before. We'd prefer to have you here among the living."

"I see." Rosalind thanked the man and shut the door behind her. She wondered if the storm would interfere with phone signals. Reaching for the black device, she checked. As isolated as this place was, the most she'd gotten her entire stay here was two out of three reception bars. Now it was fluctuating as she paced the room, bouncing from two to one and back again. She frowned. If she was going to let anyone at headquarters know, she'd better do it now.

"I see," Tseng said in exactly the same tone Rosalind had used earlier on the hotel manager when he heard the news. "There's ho help for it, then. Stay where you are and finish your report. Don't take any unnecessary risks." Which probably meant 'Don't go frolicking in the snow and get yourself buried under' as much as it did 'Don't go picking unnecessary fights with AVALANCHE'. Rosalind nodded before remembering that Tseng couldn't see her. "Yes sir."

Settling back down, she stared at her computer screen. She hadn't been looking at it for a minute when she heard another knock at her door. She raised her eyebrows. What now?

Getting up, she opened the door, her mind still half on her unfinished report, and still half on the fact that she wouldn't be getting home for a little while longer. The report didn't bother her so much as the sudden and surprising wave of 'homesickness', for lack of a better word did.

She was so caught up in her thoughts she didn't notice that the person standing there in front of her door wasn't the hotel manager, or even a staff member. Not until she'd looked up and gasped did she realize her mistake, and by then, it was too late.

--

St. Andrew was standing over the prone form of yet another operative. This time he'd been running down the train car when he'd heard the compartment door behind him. It had only been thanks to his speed and luck that the bullet had missed; St. Andrew hadn't given himself time to dwell on this, opting instead to retaliate. A quick blow to the head had been all it'd taken.

Breathing heavily, St. Andrew attempted to get his heart rate down to a level that hopefully wouldn't have him having an attack anywhere in the next few minutes. It wasn't like he hadn't expected something like this when he'd boarded the train. He remembered all too well the numbers AVALANCHE had possessed, not to mention their willingness to use any means to achieve their ends. But damn, did he have to get jumped every second?! He laughed, a sound that was less amusement than a tired series of gasps.

_Sooner or later I'll catch up with Cloud and the others. I just hope they're in okay shape. _

Standing up to his full height, St. Andrew made for the next train car, pointedly ignoring the bullet embedded in the wall ahead of him.

The first thing he spotted when he entered the next train car was a blonde head crouched down between two brown-garbed men. There was another operative standing directly in front of Cloud, his weapon drawn. St. Andrew's stomach clenched unpleasantly.

There came a low laugh from the operative standing in front of Cloud. As St. Andrew got closer, he heard something about Cloud really wanting to die before he smacked Cloud with the butt of his weapon.

"Hey! Hold on!" St. Andrew yelled. He'd spent the better part of Ifrit knew how long being attacked and jumped and subjected to a gauntlet of bullets. Now, seeing these brown-jumpsuited assholes preparing to cap a boy who was barely old enough to shave, was enough to snap St. Andrew's tether. And so it was that when the AVALANCHE operatives shot around, St. Andrew overdid it a bit.

The first operative didn't even have time to train his weapon on St. Andrew before he found himself being unceremoniously and rather enthusiastically being knocked down. St. Andrew grinned, flicking his gaze to Cloud and the doctor, who was standing behind the remaining operatives.

"You all right?"

"I'm all right, but…" Laylee glanced at Cloud, who was still crouched down, breathing unsteadily.

"Cloud…" St. Andrew muttered. The kid was a pitiful sight. He'd been kicked around several times by the look of it; the purpling bruises on his face were more than plain enough to see. His weapon was some feet away from him. St. Andrew's gaze narrowed on the AVALANCHE operatives standing there.

"Don't move," one of the operatives said, and St. Andrew could hear his voice shaking. "If you do, this punk's as good as dead."

The irritation that had been needling at St. Andrew morphed into something else. Did they really think threats were going to work? So they were hard enough to beat on some kid but they were scared of dealing with a Turk? St. Andrew laughed. "Don't make me laugh," he said. "You're about to piss yourselves and you know it." He spared Cloud a glance. "Stay out of my way this time, Cloud." This whole business was pissing him off and he was going to be the one to put an end to it.

It wasn't much of a fight, much to St. Andrew's disappointment. AVALANCHE may have had the advantage in terms of their numbers, but the majority of these operatives clearly had no or limited field combat experience. It was laughable how easily he upset their formation – all he'd had to do was run at them, his weapon swinging at their heads. Whirling on the spot, he'd hit one guy in the face, following up with a blow to the head and a final kick to the midsection. The next operative, who'd actually gained a bit of spine and pulled out a firearm, was also dealt with in the same way. St. Andrew's fist crashed into his nose, and St. Andrew felt a surge of savage triumph as he felt it break. The operative stumbled back. Several well-placed blows later, the operative was collapsing at St. Andrew's feet. St. Andrew nudged his victim with his foot; no movement. Good.

"Cloud, can you stand?" he asked, sticking out his hand for the boy to take.

The boy didn't take his hand. Instead he glared at St. Andrew. His look was almost… _defiant_, and it made St. Andrew stiffen. What had _he_ done?

"Why are you here?" Cloud continued to glare. St. Andrew had to give him credit: never mind the fact that the boy was still flat on his ass, his determination was really something. Still, what the hell was he talking about?

"Have you come here to put the doctor in danger again?"

Huh? St. Andrew's brows knitted together. Okay, now the kid had really lost him. How exactly was he putting the doctor in danger? He'd come here to save…

St. Andrew turned away. He'd almost forgotten. When it came right down to it, the doctor wasn't as important as the information she was carrying; he'd been told this over and over again, and here was that reminder once again. He swallowed.

"Look, the data the doc's carrying is important to the company. If AVALANCHE gets their hands on it, there's no telling what'd happen." It was the best rationalization he could come out with, though he realized that Cloud would probably find it a poor excuse; St. Andrew himself couldn't really justify this one either. He wasn't supposed to justify it. He was just supposed to do as he was told. He scowled.

"So you're willing to throw away her life to protect it," Cloud said, his voice angry. He was so self-righteous. So very young with his mind filled with all these ideals that didn't always work in the real world. St. Andrew didn't want to be the one to disabuse him of these notions.

"I'm not throwing anybody's life away." Even as he said it, he knew it sounded half-hearted.

Cloud could obviously see that. "You've put her in unnecessary danger. That's the same thing."

St. Andrew opened his mouth to argue, but Cloud cut him off. "There's got to be a way to protect the doctor." His gaze, locked on St. Andrew, didn't waver. His voice was steady. And there was that damned determination in his eyes again. St. Andrew closed his mouth. He couldn't say anything. Not a damned thing. Because he was right, and St. Andrew knew it.

The PHS in St. Andrew's pocket rang. Reluctantly, he fished it out, glancing at the display screen. He swallowed again.

"St. Andrew, what's your status?" It was Veld.

"I've caught up with Laylee," he said, realizing even as he spoke that his voice sounded tight and clipped. He only hoped the Turk leader wouldn't pick up on it.

If he did notice, he wasn't saying anything. He asked if the data was safe, to which St. Andrew responded it was. For all intents and purposes, he'd fulfilled his orders as Veld had given them. St. Andrew only hoped that things would stay that way. He didn't need this kind of mental tug-of-war going when he was in the middle of a mission.

"All right," Veld said then. "I want you to take the data and get off the train."

St. Andrew started a little at that. "Why?" he blurted, only realizing too late that it was best not to question Veld about these things. Still, the sudden order had really taken him off guard. What about escorting Laylee? What about Cloud?

"There's a contingent of operatives equipped with the death magic you encountered earlier heading your way."

Crap. He meant for St. Andrew to take the disk and run, leaving Laylee and Cloud to deal with the deathbringers on their own. A hollow feeling began bubbling up inside St. Andrew's stomach. He listened as Veld continued to speak. He didn't think he'd caught everything the boss man had said, though. The only bits he remembered hearing distinctly were that those death magic guys were underlings of Fuhito's. St. Andrew cursed inside. Fuhito again. Bastard.

"Can you hear me? Respond, St. Andrew," Veld said, when the silence between them had extended to almost a full thirty seconds.

It wasn't that St. Andrew was trying to ignore what Veld was saying. As much as he hadn't wanted to hear those orders, he wanted even less to see what he was currently seeing: operatives in black jumpsuits, visors over their eyes. Fuhito's henchmen. Fuck. It didn't matter so much now if he took the disk and ran; they could easily dispatch Cloud and Laylee, then come after him. This was no longer a matter of following or not following orders.

But Cloud surprised him. Stepping in front of St. Andrew, his weapon held out, he spoke.

"I'm leaving the doctor in your hands."

There was that determination again, in his eyes and in his voice. The kid was going to march bravely off to his death. St. Andrew didn't know if Cloud thought he stood a chance of winning. He shook his head. "Cloud…"

Cloud took another step toward the operatives, who had come to a stop several metres away. Veld was yelling in St. Andrew's ear, commanding him to respond. Finally St. Andrew spoke. "Bad news, sir. Those guys you mentioned? They're here."

"Get out of there, right now!" Veld's response was immediate and brooked no argument. St. Andrew knew that a verbal ass-kicking would be the least of his problems when he got out of this, but to his mind, there was no other way. Never mind that a Turk who couldn't follow orders wasn't needed; he couldn't keep _being_ a Turk if he didn't do this.

"I can't hear you – I think the signal here's breaking up. I'm gonna hang up," St. Andrew said, squeezing his eyes shut as he hit the 'end call' button. Ha. He'd probably be made to do something horrifying and unthinkable when he came back… but he'd deal with that later. Right now, he had to stop the kid from getting himself killed.

"Cloud," he called out to the blonde. He turned his head slightly to indicate he was listening. "Can you run?"

This made him turn around fully. "What?!" St. Andrew grabbed him by the arm, pulling him roughly back. What did he think he was doing, turning his back on the enemy?!

"We're running. Come on!" He didn't give Cloud a chance to respond. His arm still clamped on the boy's arm, he ran for all he was worth. They were going to survive this. They had to survive this. He wasn't going to be the best damned Turk of all time if he died at the hands of these lackeys.

At that thought, St. Andrew grinned. _No matter how impossible the mission, the Turks will see it through._ Indeed.

--

Veld was not a happy man. Putting his phone away carefully, he breathed for several counts: in through the nose, out through the mouth. By the time Tseng knocked on his door, he felt far calmer than he had when St. Andrew had hung up on him.

"Sir, we've gotten some more information from our field operatives. It turns out –" He stopped in mid-sentence, observing Veld's body language. To the casual observer, Veld was always calm and collected. It was as impossible to ruffle the Turk leader as it was to get Reno to admit his natural hair colour; still, Tseng had always been a keen observer, and he knew when his superior was agitated.

"I take it St. Andrew's update was less than satisfactory?"

Veld laughed. There was a reason he had made Tseng second-in-command. "You could say that," he said dryly.

Tseng paused for a moment. He was, Veld knew, debating whether to try and get more information, or just leave it at that. Veld sat back in his chair, his gaze trained on his subordinate. "Tell me, Tseng. Do you remember when you first started working with the Turks?" He watched Tseng's reaction shift from speculation to surprise to speculation once more: what was he getting at?

"Yes," Tseng replied at last.

"The rookies remind me of you sometimes," Veld said simply.

Tseng stared at him. Then he laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment, sir."

Veld made an amused sound. He privately hoped they would survive long enough to be become the Turks he could see them becoming one day. With the way things were with this current AVALANCHE situation, it was hard to see some days how the days ahead would measure up.

A phone rang. Veld looked over at Tseng, who took his PHS out of his pocket. Inside he sighed as Tseng's expression changed, morphing into that controlled… not _panic_, per se, but he was definitely agitated at what he'd heard.

"I see. Understood. I'll send someone out to look into the situation."

Tseng turned to Veld. "Rosalind hasn't reported in" he said tersely. "She didn't contact the pilot about being late for her rendezvous, and the hotel she was staying at says her last check in time was the night before the contact time."

They both knew Rosalind wasn't the type to blow off the meeting point, or be late for anything. Out of all the rookies she was the most conscientious and responsible. The only reason she could have missed her contact would have been because she'd run into an accident… or been caught.

"Who's available right now to head out to Icicle?" Veld asked.

Tseng inputted some commands into his PHS. After a while he said, "Rude, Rafe and Samantha are all on standby… Rude's the only one who hasn't just come back from a mission, though."

"Get one of them over there," Veld said. The possibility that AVALANCHE had caught up with Rosalind was there, and it gave rise to unwelcome thoughts. Veld dismissed any further thoughts on the matter; it would be no use wondering until they got Rosalind back. If it turned out AVALANCHE was behind this… his eyes narrowed.

_"I want all the traitors dealt with," President Shinra growled. "I didn't want to go this far, but they leave me no choice." _

_"Yes sir." It was a pity that people entirely unconnected with AVALANCHE were getting involved in this, but if there was one thing President Shinra was adamant about, it was hitting his enemies where it hurt. There were very few people who didn't have either family or friends; the President's current mood meant that the shockwaves of the current situation would hit those who probably would never have dreamed of… Well. There was no point in thinking about it any further. Instead he addressed the President. "Sir, about what we spoke about the other day…"_

_President Shinra grunted. "A traitor within the executives? I suppose you've already taken measures."_

_"I have, sir." Veld paused. "In the event I do find anything –"_

_"Then you'll report it directly to me," President Shinra said. "I'll deal with any traitor personally." He turned to face the window. "You're dismissed, Veld."_

Veld only hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

--

It was cold. That was the first thing that registered in Rosalind's mind. She really wanted nothing more than to leave this place and come back to Midgar. She'd be happy if she never had to go to Icicle again.

Rosalind tried to shift slightly to avoid a particular cold draft which was hitting her back, but it was hard; maybe the cold was seeping into her bones, making it all that more harder to move. And then there was the smell. Had her room always smelled like rusting metal and damp?

Her eyes flew open. Disoriented as she was, she noticed almost immediately that this wasn't her hotel room. Where was she?

The walls were dull coloured, made of what looked like concrete. The lower half of the wall was reinforced with metal sheeting studded into the wall. Well, that explained the cold. Rosalind shivered. She tried to move to get a better view of her surroundings. It was difficult, as her limbs were numb from cold and prolonged disuse. Eventually, she managed to sit upright.

She was in some sort of prison. How had she gotten…? Vague memories of being in her hotel room flitted through her brain. She groaned, attempting to push back the headache that was pressing against her temples. She had been in her hotel room, and then…

AVALANCHE. She'd been caught. Closing her eyes, she stifled a moan. How had they known she would be out here? The scouting mission wasn't exactly open news.

Another shiver wracked her body. With some effort, she stood up, her legs shaking. Tottering to the door of the cell, she reached out a hand. She gave the door an experimental push. Nothing. It was solid metal – it would take more than a slight nudge to get it to open. There was no handle on her end, so it clearly locked from the outside.

_I was careless._ Crossing her arms about herself, Rosalind took another look around her cell. There was nothing of note. There was a small window placed high enough that Rosalind couldn't possibly reach it. There was no light coming from it, which probably meant it was night. Her eyes followed the window all the way down the wall, and she shivered again when she saw the thick chains dangling from the wall. Her situation could have been worse… _But not by much_.

How was she going to get out of here? She didn't have her weapon, though a quick check of her pockets told her she did have her PHS and extra potions. Checking her armour, she found that they'd missed her Materia as well.

Rosalind blew a breath up, shifting her bangs. Okay, she could probably do some damage with the Materia, but not enough to get her out of here. And then she didn't know anything about this place. She had as high a chance of wandering and getting caught again as she did of getting out.

So what? Did that mean she should stay here and hope someone rescued her? Rosalind closed her eyes. She didn't know how long she'd been out. When would they realize something was wrong?

_Stop this. This isn't getting you anywhere_.

Sighing, she slumped back down onto the ground. Barring any solutions, she would just have to wait and see what happened next. Rescue would come for her or AVALANCHE would attempt to do what it would with her. She had no illusions about the kinds of tactics they would use; if Junon was any indication, she wouldn't exactly be treated with kid gloves.

She didn't know how long she'd been thinking when she heard it. Rosalind raised her head, perking her ears. What was that?

The sounds of a distant to-do. Frowning, she tilted her head in an attempt to get an idea of what was going on. Was that…?

A sound like a yelp, followed by a thump reached her ears. Rosalind scrambled up, then fell right back down again. Her head was really throbbing now. She grimaced. What had they done to her?

The noises were getting progressively louder. Rosalind listened from her place on the floor. There was a lot of shouting, scuffling, thumping, and it reminded Rosalind of a street brawl late at night in some of the darker parts of the slums. She seriously doubted that was the case here. Either that, or there had been a lot of money riding on that poker game.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when something banged against her door. She tried rising up again. She stumbled again, coming down on her knees. Damn! She hissed through her teeth. At this rate, the mob was going to be in here with her and she'd probably get trampled underfoot or something just as ridiculous.

Several more bangs. Rosalind's head shot up. Well, if she couldn't move, then she could at the very least prepare herself for whatever was on the other side. Setting her concentration into her Materia, she waited.

She hadn't expected the door to open with a bang so hard and loud she could swear the wall was still vibrating with aftershocks. She also hadn't been expecting to see an operative tumble right in, stiff as a board, and hit the ground with a thud. And she really hadn't expected to see Rude there in all his be-suited and be-gloved glory. Rosalind blinked. Had his head just _sparkled_?

"…Rude?"

The tall man nodded, cracking his knuckles. He titled his head slightly. "Are you all right?"

Rosalind nodded. Then she shook her head. "No. My legs… I can't move."

Moving quickly, he knelt down by Rosalind. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I just… can't move."

Rude nodded. He held out his arm. Rosalind felt a warm tingling spreading through her body – a general cure-all Materia. She tried standing once more. It was a lot easier this time, though her head still felt a little strange. If she made too sudden a movement, it took a moment for her vision to catch up and right itself. A concussion? She raised this possibility with Rude, who nodded.

"I brought your weapon," he said, handing her her handgun. Rosalind took it gratefully, checking it over to make sure nothing had been done to it. When she was satisfied, she looked back at Rude, who nodded once more.

"We're going. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

For the third time, Rude nodded. He led the way outside. Klaxons started to blare, loud and jarring against Rosalind's head. Why hadn't that blasted thing gone off before when Rude was thumping all those AVALANCHE operatives? Were they trying to make her feel worse? Rosalind's hand flew to her temple.

"We'll clean out any AVALANCHE we encounter on the way," he said.

Rosalind nodded, hefting her weapon. Yes. And then maybe she could get something for this raging headache.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ This took much longer than I anticipated. Honestly, there was so much I wanted to cram into one chapter, and I couldn't do it all. As it is, I'm choosing to end this chapter here because it's where I feel the cut is cleanest.

I'm looking forward to the next chapter. Cloud kicks some AVALANCHE arse. :)


	25. The Boy I Used To Be

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

_By DarkAngel_

_Disclaimer: Square-Enix owns it all. I'm just mucking around in their universe._

* * *

**Chapter 25: The Boy I Used To Be **

The fresh air felt wonderful in Rosalind's lungs. With each breath of the bitter air northern she felt invigorated. She hadn't realized how muddled her mind had been up until this moment. Now her thoughts were clearing she could turn her mind to more important things. Like…

"Rosalind." She looked up to see Rude watching her (at least she thought he was watching her) through his shades. She shook her head and smiled a little at him. "I'm fine. Thank you, Rude."

He nodded, turning away to look at something in the distance. After some time, Rosalind felt that she had caught her breath and prepared herself enough for what was to come next. Her brow knitted. "What's next?" Rude merely pointed to the horizon beyond. He had left the chopper there. Rosalind nodded mutely. They began their walk.

"How long was I in there?"

"…" At first Rosalind thought he wasn't going to answer. "Almost 50 hours."

Now it was Rosalind's turn to become quiet. She looked around. Where was this place, anyway? "Icicle?" she murmured to herself. It certainly felt like it, what with the perpetually chilling winds and the white snows washing over the landscape. So she hadn't left the continent, then. But…

"My search turned up nothing about an AVALANCHE facility here," Rosalind said in a louder voice. When Rude didn't answer, she continued. "But obviously there was. So… what's going on in there? More importantly, how did they know I was there?" She was beginning to feel a bit silly. Rude wasn't answering her, and the more she thought about it, the more there was to be embarrassed about. How could she have missed a place like this? How could she have gotten caught? She sighed. And she would have to report all of this directly to Tseng, too…

"Rosalind." Rude's voice startled her out of her thoughts. Suppressing the urge to jump, her head snapped up.

"Yes sir?"

"Don't blame yourself." It was all he said before turning back around again. Rosalind followed him, watching his back. She watched his back, waiting for him to say something more. When he didn't, she gave up and smiled. So he was a mind reader now.

"Thank you, Rude."

-*-*-*-*-

The AVALANCHE operatives they were up against weren't leaving St. Andrew with many options. The sound of the operatives' boots tromping down the corridor filled his ears. In St. Andrew's mind a dozen scenarios ran at light-speed through his head: how could he and Cloud get out of this situation intact? Each possibility having been rejected, and now coming up blank, he laughed, a short burst of laughter that startled the blonde beside him. St. Andrew shook his head, grinning at Cloud to reassure him. _It's okay_, the grin said. _We'll get out of this alive and be back in time for supper, to boot_. It didn't matter if he himself believed those words or not; what mattered was getting Cloud and Laylee to safety.

Once they were in the next train car, St. Andrew started to back up. He called out to Cloud, stopping him. "Hey!"

He looked around. It should be somewhere around here… somewhere… there! His training hadn't abandoned him after all.

Sticking his hands in his pockets, St. Andrew searched for the right words. He wasn't too good at this self-expression thing. Glancing at Cloud, he took a breath. "My job is to protect the Shin-Ra company's secrets. It doesn't matter how I do it." Cloud raised his eyebrows, but St. Andrew glanced away quickly, choosing instead to focus on the touch panel in front of him. Finding the buttons he needed, he pushed them. Then with a grin that split his features, he smashed his weapon as hard as he could into the electronic console, watching with satisfaction as sparks and smoke rose from it. There was the sound of metal unlocking, and a lurch that almost sent him off his feet. He watched, almost disinterestedly, as the train cars connecting him with Cloud and Laylee began to separate. Cloud shouted. St. Andrew waved whatever the boy had been about to say aside.

"I told you, didn't I? My job is to protect the company's interests. Cloud, take care of Doctor Laylee. That's _your_ job." The distance between the train cars was growing. With one last wave, St. Andrew turned his back on Cloud and the retreating car. Just in time, too. The black-garbed AVALANCHE operatives were marching down the corridor. Without giving himself further time to think, St. Andrew grabbed onto the ladder that would lead to the top of the train. He would think of something in the meantime…

The slipstream created by the fast-moving train nearly made St. Andrew stumble back down the ladder again, but he tightened his grip, gritting his teeth against the rush of furiously moving air. Once he was able to find some sense of equilibrium, he started making his way – carefully – along the train, hoping he wouldn't run (literally) into any tunnels or other unexpected surprises. Right now the only thing that mattered was putting as much distance between himself and AVALANCHE as possible. And then maybe, if the timing and distance was all right, he could make the jump to the other car.

He'd gotten maybe halfway across when a sound made him look around. St. Andrew stifled a groan. Well, it was only one of them. And in this narrow space, he doubted he'd be facing more than one of them at a time. If there was any chance he was going to win against them, he supposed it would be here. With these thoughts bracing him, he readied his weapon.

Whatever these guys were made of, it was tougher stuff than the average flunky. Some extended arcs of lightning and a physical blow to the gut later, St. Andrew had taken down the operative. Were they all going to be this tough?

He felt his knuckles scrape against the metal of the roof as he pulled himself up once more, preparing for the slow journey across to the other train car. A metallic taste invaded his mouth; he'd bitten himself during that last fricassee. Swallowing, he reached an arm out. Just a little at a time. He only had to go a little at a time.

It wasn't very long before he encountered his second obstacle. Not one but two operatives – they must have split up. Now he had two of them approaching him from opposite ends of the car: a classic pincer movement. Swearing, St. Andrew wondered just how he was going to fight two tough-as-hell operatives and keep his ass from falling off the train; a fine balancing act if there ever was one. And then he wasn't thinking but just trying to hang on as the train gave a great lurch… and came to a stop.

Luck was on his side, though, because although he did fall, he somehow managed to land on his feet. Like a cat, he thought bemusedly. He didn't have much more time to dwell on the thought, because the AVALANCHE operatives were jumping down after him. Sighing, he readied his weapon.

It wasn't by any means an easy battle. He had to keep dodging the Death spells they kept aiming at him, and then there was the fact that they were defensively more beefed up than their average counterparts. As if that wasn't enough, those swords they carried may not have been terribly long, but their reach was just enough to keep St. Andrew dancing.

After dealing with the operatives, St. Andrew crouched low, his breathing harsh. Damn, he was really out of it. A fight like that shouldn't have winded him like it had. He was getting soft. Or they were getting tougher. The troubling thing was, St. Andrew couldn't tell which it was.

His head snapped up then. Wait. Why had the train stopped in the first place? Something was crystallizing in his mind and freezing his spine. If the car had stopped, then that meant… He swore. "Cloud!"

-*-*-*-*-

Rafe felt something hit him in the head. Opening his eyes, his first thought was that he hadn't been aware of going to sleep. Blinking, he tried to focus through narrowed eyes at the figure swimming in his vision.

"It's time to switch," Samantha said matter of factly. She crossed her arms. "You know, the more I think about this, the more I think one of our own has betrayed us."

It took some moments for what she was saying to register. And then he only shook his head, holding his hand up to his temple. Ugh. This was what he got for sleeping on the couch. "I've got a headache," he muttered.

"You think you've got a headache?" Samantha exclaimed, her voice unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet break room. She slumped down on the couch, unceremoniously shoving his legs aside. "Try six hours of sifting through boring executive memorandums. That'll get your engine running."

Rafe raised an eyebrow. "How much closer are we getting?"

Wearily, Samantha made an idle gesture with one hand. "Oh, you know. The problem with a company as large as Shin-Ra isn't just the volume of information." She sighed. "I know the systems maintenance people have to purge old files once in a while, but I really do wish they'd bother to back some of that stuff up. What a bother."

Did that mean she'd found something? "Did your trail get cut off?"

"Sort of." Samantha wrinkled her nose. "There's been a number of logins from different terminals in this building. And then there's the stuff that's been coming from outside the building." Samantha pursed her lips. "Each login doesn't stay active for more than ten minutes, but whoever's doing it always does the same thing." She smiled, raising an eyebrow at Rafe. "Have you checked your mail today?"

Rafe considered this. "No," he said at last. "But I should."

"You should." Samantha made a shooing gesture at him. "I've left a note there telling you where I left off." She smiled sweetly at him in an 'I'm-so-very-kind' way.

"Thanks." He knew she was baiting him, but damned if he was going to rise to it. He'd dealt with trickier minxes than her in his time. With that thought in mind, he bowed, a mocking tilt to his mouth barely checked. "Is there anything else the lady requires before she retires once more?" It didn't hurt to keep up the polish, either. He might have left the Don's service, but some things were worth remembering.

"No. You may go," she said loftily. She stood up. "Actually, there was something I forgot to mention."

"Yes?" With Samantha, it could be anything, and Rafe prepared himself for some rather unpleasant news. It didn't hurt, especially where Samantha was concerned.

"There's someone in particular Tseng wants earmarked." She raised her eyebrows. "Bet you'll never guess who it is."

Rafe shrugged. He'd find out sooner or later, wouldn't he? As far as he was concerned, this was all part of his job. Nothing more, nothing less.

Samantha, seeing he wasn't going to humour her, finally gave up with a huff. "You're no fun," she muttered. Shaking her head, she got up. "I'll see you later, Rafe. Rosalind and Rude should be home by the time you get through, so you know who to bother." She waved a hand lightly. "Tseng said depending on how much more information you can dig up, he might have us doing some reconnaissance. It would make a nice change," she continued.

Rising up from the couch, Rafe made his way to the Turks offices, hands in his pockets. If he finished his part of the search early enough, maybe he could hit Rude up for some of the usual. It had been a while, after all…

-*-*-*-*-

It didn't take more than a few seconds for St. Andrew to locate the train car he'd uncoupled. It had rolled to a stop just half a metre from where the other car had stopped. Apparently something blocking the tracks had caused both cars to kick in with their auto-brake systems. Things couldn't have been better in that regard. Launching himself into the other car, St. Andrew came just in time to see Cloud fall at the hands of an AVALANCHE flunky. The operative was just making a move to grab Laylee when St. Andrew barked. "Your back's wide open, AVALANCHE!"

The black-clad operative whipped around.

"A Turk! When did you -?!"

St. Andrew grinned. "That doesn't matter, does it?" He launched himself at his opponent, feeling a rush of adrenaline overtake him as he tackled the operative. Twisting, he let his enemy take the impact; the sound of air escaping the flunky's lungs as he smashed against the train floor only made St. Andrew's heart beat harder. Scrambling up, St. Andrew followed up with a kick to the operative's head.

"Had enough yet?" St. Andrew grabbed him by the collar. His grin grew even bigger. "Guess not." _Smash_. St. Andrew punched him straight in the face, following up with another blow to the back of the head as he shoved him down once more to the train's floor. Pressing down hard on the enemy's windpipe, St. Andrew shoved the business end of his EMR at the guy's throat with the other. There was a sizzling zap. St. Andrew stood up.

Cloud was staring at St. Andrew wide-eyed. St. Andrew dusted himself and gave the younger man a quizzical look. "Hey man, are you okay?"

The soldier nodded, clutching his chest. "You're safe." He sounded both relieved and pained, and St. Andrew frowned. The hell the kid was okay. He'd probably taken a few rough blows. Rolling his eyes, he raised his arm, palm raised in Cloud's direction. With a small murmur, a green aura of light surrounded the boy, who looked, if anything, startled.

"Thanks," Cloud muttered, looking down. St. Andrew shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. I'm going to check out what's going on out there." He jerked his thumb toward the window. Doubtless there was going to be some shit kicking, if there already wasn't.

"I'll come too." Cloud was pushing himself to his feet. He still looked a little tender around the edges, his voice raspy. He wasn't going to be much use in battle in that condition, and St. Andrew had the feeling that Cloud knew it. The boy had something to prove. Maybe not to St. Andrew, but the older man knew that look when he saw it. He had no wish to see the boy die.

"You're not going to be any use in battle like that," St. Andrew said. He tilted his head. "Stay here with Laylee." She needed someone to look after her, after all. They stared at each other for several moments. Finally, Cloud nodded, though the determination was still there. Fine. So long as he stayed behind and did his job, St. Andrew didn't care. Turning around without another word, he exited the train.

The air was cool down here in the tunnels. St. Andrew shivered a little, sticking his hands in his pockets. Well, he supposed he ought to see if there was anything he could do to get the train moving again.

And then they came. One, two, three… no, four of them. Two of them were the average AVALANCHE underlings St. Andrew had grown accustomed to dealing with. It was the other two that were going to be trouble. _Death_. Again. Rolling his shoulders, he prepared for what was doubtless going to be a very gruelling fight.

"St. Andrew! I'm going to fight too!"

If St. Andrew could have strangled the kid with telepathy, he would have done it right then and there. What the hell was he thinking?! St. Andrew watched with dismay as Cloud hopped off the train, weapon raised.

"Stay back, Cloud!" St. Andrew barked. This battle was hard enough without soldier boy getting himself beat up again.

The leader of the enemy group, one of the black-clad AVALANCHE operatives, cocked his head at the two regulars behind him. "Finish them." St. Andrew whipped back into his stance, ready for battle. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a roar filled the tunnel. The roar was coming from the boy, who was even run running past him right at the operatives. There was the sound of metal slicing air, and then a pair of agonized screams. The smell of blood immediately filled the cool air of the tunnel, and the sound of bodies falling heavily filled St. Andrew's ears. Was this the same kid who'd gotten beat up time and again? St. Andrew watched, feeling the first stirrings of uncertainty in his heart when Cloud turned back to him. His eyes. He knew those eyes.

"You're shitting me," St. Andrew said lowly. "A kid like swinging a sword that huge around…" Now that he thought about it, Cloud had carried a shotgun with him the whole time. Where had he gotten that sword?

The remaining operatives advanced. "Death to the Shin-Ra!"

The boy was a far better fighter with the sword in hand than with a gun. St. Andrew wondered why his superiors hadn't noticed this or seen fit to equip him with something he could actually use. Even as he watched, Cloud whirled around and caught an operative in the midsection, slicing neatly. St. Andrew swallowed, holding down bile at the sights and smells the dying operative was releasing.

The last operative St. Andrew took care of himself. With one last swipe across the temple of the enemy, he had them knocked out. St. Andrew crouched, holding his hands to his knees, attempting to get his breath back. Some feet away, Cloud was doing the same.

"Cloud, that was amazing." St. Andrew laughed. It had been a bit blunt and brutal, but the boy could do wonders with a sword.

Cloud raised his hands to his face. He'd dropped the sword as soon as he'd taken down that last operative. His voice shook. "I… was desperate. I don't remember what happened…"

St. Andrew looked at him, concerned. The glow in Cloud's eyes was dimming. He was shaking, as though he'd exerted far more energy than he could afford. His breathing was still uneven, coming in little gasps. What kind of power had he used? St. Andrew wanted to say something, but couldn't think of any way to broach it. "Let's get back on the train." It was the best he could offer. To his relief, Cloud nodded, bringing his hands down from his face.

There was something off – St. Andrew could feel it as soon as they re-entered the car, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why he felt that way. From beside him, Cloud drew a sharp breath. St. Andrew followed his gaze.

"That AVALANCHE guy – he isn't here anymore."

He was right. The guy St. Andrew had taken down was gone. His eyes travelled farther up the car. And there was a shadow there, at the very end of the car –

St. Andrew swore and broke into a run. Skidding into a crouch, he shook Doctor Laylee's shoulder. Behind him he could hear Cloud's harsh breathing. St. Andrew's eyes scanned the perimeter. Where had that AVALANCHE bastard gone to?

Laylee moaned and St. Andrew's attention was immediately upon her. Helping her to sit up, he asked what had happened. Clutching her head, she whispered. "I didn't think he would… he just stood up and…" From what she was saying, the operative had suddenly risen up, attacked Laylee and ran. With the disk in hand. A heavy metal ball dropped to the lowest point in St. Andrew's stomach.

"Don't worry. There's a security lock on the disk that only I know how to release." She tried to smile, though the expression was pained.

But that wasn't what was worrying St. Andrew. He had a bad feeling about that AVALANCHE operative. Before he could give voice to his concerns, the train's PA system crackled to life.

"We have cleared up the problem causing the delay and will soon be resuming service."

There was a brief lurch as the train started to move. He frowned, staring out the windows. No signs of AVALANCHE anywhere. Come to think of it, those guys they'd fought… where were they?

They'd all disappeared. And the feeling in the pit of St. Andrew's stomach grew heavier.

-*-*-*-*-

It was, Rosalind thought, good to be home. Even if she wasn't looking forward to having to tell Tseng and Veld about her failure, at least she would be in a warm place. She took that small comfort with her as she and Rude entered the lifts that would take them up to the offices housing the Turks offices. She watched idly through the glass of the lift as the people in the lobby grew smaller and smaller until they were obscured, and the only thing she could see then was the dark of the shaft around them.

Rude hadn't said anything the entire way back since Icicle. By now she knew better than to be bothered by the silence, but the closer they got to Tseng, the more she wished the other man would say something, anything to slacken the tension. She looked in his direction to see if he would offer something, but he merely stared straight ahead.

The chiming sound as they reached their destination coincided with the dreadful thump in Rosalind's chest. She'd never failed anything in her life before. And of all the things, all the places where she could have failed… this was the worst. She bit down hard on her lip to keep the sting in her eyes from getting worse. Turks accepted their responsibility. They didn't try to win with tears.

The cool air of the offices brushed across Rosalind's cheeks and froze whatever tears might have threatened. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at Rude. "I'll see you later."

Rude shook his head. "We're reporting together."

Oh. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or more nervous. She made a small gesture. "I guess… I'll lead the way then."

Two soft taps on Tseng's door yielded a terse "come in". The second-in-command of the Turks glanced at them briefly, telling them to take a seat. They did, Rude sitting stolidly in one chair, Rosalind perched on the edge of hers. When Tseng was done looking at whatever was on his computer screen, he turned his attention to them. Rosalind fought the urge to look away – that black gaze always made her feel as though he was searching to the deepest part of her.

"I'm glad you made it back safe and sound," Tseng started. His eyes flickered over Rude, then Rosalind. His fingers were steepled, covering his mouth. Unreadable. Just like always. Figuring the best response was just to acquiesce, Rosalind nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"What happened out there?" There was no preamble. There never was with Tseng. At times Rosalind found this trait admirable - those were the times it wasn't directed at her. Swallowing, she started with the basics – how her mission had gone up to the point where she'd contacted Tseng about the storm.

"You see the funny thing about that," Tseng interrupted, "was that there was a storm, but not one that warranted delaying the flight back to headquarters."

Rosalind's head snapped up.

"As a matter of fact, the chopper pilot waited, and when you didn't show up, I sent Rude out there to look for you."

Why did she feel like she was getting a scolding? His voice hadn't changed tone in the slightest, but Rosalind flinched. "It took a little doing, but some good did come of all this." Rosalind looked up, half-curious, half filled with dread at what would come out his mouth next.

"Sir?"

"That holding facility AVALANCHE held you in. I doubt they'd go through the trouble and expense of relocating just because of that one incident." Tseng's thin lips curled up ever so slightly at the corners. It took Rosalind only a few seconds to get what her superior was getting at.

"It's a good chance for reconnaissance."

"Among other things."

Rosalind breathed out. Relief didn't quite describe what she was feeling; she doubted she was off the hook. But it was good to know that the mission hadn't been a complete failure. "I'm happy to hear that sir," she murmured.

Tseng glanced once more at his computer. "Get some rest. I want you back here this evening at 22:30." He waved a hand idly. "Your report can wait until tomorrow."

"Yes sir." It was amazing how a little bit of news like this could turn Rosalind's mood around. Standing up, she gave her superior a quick bow before exiting the office. As she made her way out of the building, she thought about what Tseng could possibly have in store for them. She wasn't looking forward to returning to Icicle, but any chance to redeem herself was more than welcome from where she stood.

_And I will. I won't make the same mistake twice. _

-*-*-*-*-

There were no signs of any of the AVALANCHE operatives St. Andrew and Cloud had come into contact with. Not even that operative Cloud had so brutally sliced up, which St. Andrew found just as disturbing if not more than the other disappearances. It was as if they'd never been there in the first place. Having made a brief report to Tseng over the phone, St. Andrew figured there was nothing else left for him to do here. He turned to Cloud and Doctor Laylee to say goodbye.

"St. Andrew… Can I ask you one thing?" Cloud's voice came out as a mumble and he shifted, his eyes meeting St. Andrew's for the briefest of seconds before darting down to stare at the ground.

Sticking his hands in his pockets and cracking his neck, St. Andrew shrugged. "Go ahead."

"Why'd you separate the train cars back there?" The boy sounded honestly confused. St. Andrew couldn't blame him. At the time the main thing going through his head had been to protect Cloud and Laylee. It hadn't really mattered what methods he used. Sighing, he shrugged again.

"Actually, I learned that from you."

"Huh?" If Cloud had been confused before, he looked positively lost now.

"How to do my job as a Turk," St. Andrew explained. He finally knew why that look in Cloud's eyes made him react the way he did. The boy reminded St. Andrew of himself when he was younger. Once, long ago, there had been a feisty kid willing to fight for what he believed was right. That same boy had been willing to put his life on the line to protect his gang. He hadn't been a big believer in sacrificing lives to get results. _By disobeying that order to take the disk and run… I think I've got something of my old self back_. That was the way he wanted to work as a Turk. He didn't want to sacrifice himself to be the best. He shouldn't have to.

"Uh... I don't remember what I did, but… okay," Cloud muttered, scratching at the back of his head. His cheeks were tinged slightly. St. Andrew laughed.

"Forget about it." He wondered how things were at HQ now. Doubtless AVALANCHE was running everybody ragged. He hadn't seen some of the others for over a week now. St. Andrew closed his eyes. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the action. It sure beat the patrols he'd been doing in the first few weeks with Reno and Rude. But at the same time…

_I think I need a holiday_. Maybe he'd get on his bike and go to Junon. It had been a while, after all.

Cloud's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hey, uh… St. Andrew? Thanks… for helping us out today. Really." _We couldn't have done it without you._ The words were left unsaid, but St. Andrew knew they were in there… and how tough it must have been for a soldier to say that to a Turk.

"Don't worry about it. Watch out for your buddies, all right?" He had had his doubts at the start, but he knew that Cloud would become a strong soldier. Just like he himself would become the strongest Turk. _And beat Reno flat on his ass_. His grin was threatening to split his face in two now.

The PHS in St. Andrew's pocket rang. He answered immediately, momentarily forgetting what he'd done the last time he'd used that phone.

"St. Andrew."

The memories came rushing back. St. Andrew flinched. Veld would skin him alive and kick his rear five ways from Sunday. He was gonna get it now, he just knew it. He only hoped that whatever punishment the boss man meted out for him didn't involve humiliation or too much pain. Belatedly, he realized he ought to respond when his superior was speaking to him.

"Sir! I uh, the mission's…"

An utter failure? The disk had been taken after all, and he'd disobeyed orders on top of that.

"The disk?" Veld cut him off.

Well, he was _getting_ to that. Running a hand through his hair, he spoke one word only. "Gone." Terse. Clipped.

"I see. Report back to headquarters for a full debriefing. There's also a new assignment for you." Great. Another one. So much for that drive to Junon.

However, Veld was his ultimate boss, and there was only one answer. "Roger that," he said, trying to keep the sigh out of his voice. He wasn't sure if he managed it, but Veld didn't say anything more, so St. Andrew hung up. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he turned back to Cloud. Behind the boy there were other Shin-Ra soldiers speaking with the doctor. Not that she needed any more backup – AVALANCHE had gotten what they really wanted; Laylee didn't matter to them now.

"I've gotta head back," he said instead to Cloud.

"Yeah." Cloud turned to follow the line of St. Andrew's gaze. "I've got to head to my next post, too. We're supposed to be guarding the Mako reactors."

St. Andrew nodded. "See ya 'round." He turned his feet in the direction of HQ. It would be quicker to just take the train – he was at the station, after all – but he had had his fill of trains for a while. And, truth be told, he wasn't in that much of a hurry to get back to headquarters.

"St. Andrew!"

The auburn haired Turk turned around, his heel scraping against the pavement. Raising a quizzical brow at Cloud, he waited.

"I'll see you around, okay?" He was grinning now, his expression a little shy, but sincere. St. Andrew wondered if he'd ever been like that. He felt as though he'd spent his entire life as a sarcastic, cynical person. People like Cloud were almost like dreams to St. Andrew. A part of him just couldn't believe that such people could exist.

Nevertheless, he raised a hand in response. "I'll see you around, soldier!" For a second, he saw the boy's eyes widen, then he began to laugh, an awkward but happy sound. Waving one more time, St. Andrew turned back around and resumed his walk once more. If only happiness could come that easily for everyone. If only happiness was like a fish you could catch…

_To be continued… _

* * *

_Author's Notes: _Long time no update. Hm. I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter. To be honest, I feel like the quality of this story is sliding down with every chapter. Ah, well. Do tell me what you think, yeah?


	26. Tales of the Lovelorn

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

**By DarkAngel**

_Disclaimer:_ Square-Enix owns it all. The concept of Winter Day is owned by Reno Spiegel, who writes some pretty nifty Turk!fic.

* * *

**Chapter 26: Tales of the Lovelorn**

Streetlamps illuminated the Mako city in shades of cool blue. There was a brisk chill in the air, cold enough that one could see their breath when they exhaled. It was the holiday season, getting close to Winter Day and the end of year celebrations. There was a slight bounce in the steps of even the most hardened of Midgar's denizens as they went about their daily business; the prospect of a week long holiday after a gruelling year helped to take the edge of even the most cynical of souls.

Even at this hour, Rafe could hear the laughter and carousing of the city's residents as they went floated from party to party. He could smell the food from some enterprising outdoor stalls still doing business at this hour. Right now in the slums, he knew that Don Corneo and his retinue would be down at the Honeybee Inn, drinking sparkling champagne that in all likelihood cost more than all the houses of the slum dwellers in that sector put together. A part of him ached to be there right now, instead of where he was… where he had been for the last few nights.

It had come down to which of them were staying in Midgar and which of them were not. While Turks didn't really get holidays, per se, they were allowed to get some time off in the quieter moments between jobs. And AVALANCHE had been eerily quiet since the incident with the stolen SOLDIER disk. Rosalind had gone home to visit her family. The other Turks were on standby, which basically meant that they were doing things like patrols, office work, and some bodyguard duty. Investigations about AVALANCHE's whereabouts and activities, were of course, still being carried on, but the sense of urgency had dimmed a little. Perhaps it had something to do with dealing with them on a daily basis. It was amazing what a person could get used to.

Reno seemed perfectly happy to spend his evenings patrolling Sector 8. This sector was the only one regularly patrolled by the Turks. Rafe knew it was down to tradition; that the Shin-Ra Company's soldier units patrolled the other areas. There was an unspoken agreement, uneasy though it might have been, between the two units that they would stick to their respective assignments, never the twain to meet. Politics and negotiation were things Rafe was well acquainted with, but right now he almost wished there was a little scuffle to take his mind off things. Too much free time always made him uncomfortable.

Even as Rafe finished this thought, Reno stuck his hands in his pockets, looking mightily satisfied. He glanced at Rafe, then stretched his neck back over to Rude, who was following some paces behind his partner. "Looks like we're done for today," Reno called cheerfully. He whistled a holiday tune in a low key, blue-green eyes raking the street. Finding everything to be in order, he continued. "Let's go home, Rude."

Rude had been quiet the entire day. Of course, there was nothing unusual in the big man being quiet; he rarely spoke unless he had a reason to, and even then he wasn't the most eloquent of elocutionists. Still, one thing Rafe had always been able to do was read people, and Rude's quietude had little to do with his customary habit of silence. Something was distracting him, as it had been for the last few days.

And just as he had done the other days, Rude excused himself, saying he had something to do that night. There was a flash of disappointment in Reno's eyes (just like always), followed by the quick adoption of that cheerful mask: It's no biggie, big guy. Whatever you want. And always the same words: "Is that so… Well, I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

Rude's preoccupation was why Rafe hadn't had a good game of poker or dice for weeks. He was refusing to spend any time with his fellow Turks outside of what was necessary. Even as he watched Rude make his awkward goodbye, he wondered just what was bothering the guy, and more importantly, how much longer this was going to carry on. It wasn't as though he didn't get along with the other Turks, but Rude was the closest to being a friend out of all of them. Perhaps it was because he had been the one to recruit him. Or perhaps because their natures were similar. Either way, Rafe couldn't help but feel concerned.

"Weird," Reno muttered, slouching. Maybe it was the sharp gust of wind that whistled along the alley they were standing in, or maybe this was his way of expressing his discontent with Rude's actions. Rafe said nothing, watching Reno out of the corner of his eye. The redhead was as transparent as glass; sooner or later he'd do something. The only thing Rafe didn't know yet was what that was.

"Rude's been taking off like that for a while now," Reno continued. His eyes narrowed.

"Yeah…" Fishing in his pockets for a cigarette, he found the carton, slightly crushed, along with his lighter. Offering the box to Reno, he only shrugged when the redhead refused. Honestly, it wasn't his problem. Sure, he was worried about Rude, but whatever it was would resolve itself sooner or later… probably.

"We've got to look into this," Reno declared, eyes suddenly lighting up, his posture straightening by a few centimetres. There was a twitch that grew into a grin that lifted up the corners of Reno's mouth. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them gleefully. Rafe decided then and there that whatever Reno was planning, he wanted no part of it. Before he could say anything to that effect, though, Reno was dashing off down the street to who knows where.

Rafe watched Reno go, sighing around his cigarette. Well, if that's what he wanted to do, then that was fine by him. As for Rafe himself, he was going to head home and maybe try to catch a movie on late night TV. At least it would be warm.

His PHS rang. Rafe picked up.

"It's mission time, Rafe." Rafe narrowed his eyes. He gave some thought to just ignoring Reno or hanging up before dismissing the idea: a mere hang-up wasn't going to stop him – he'd probably just hit redial; and hanging up on one's superior, even if it was Reno, wasn't in his best interests. With a small exhalation of breath that could almost be called a sigh, Rafe replied.

"Your orders are to tail Rude and see what he's up to." Reno's voice was almost sing-song, and that in itself spelled nothing less than trouble.

"Are you serious?" He wasn't serious, was he? Rafe grimaced. This was so not his thing.

"I'm counting on you Rafe." _Click._ The line went dead. Bastard. Rafe sighed. Well, now that he had received his 'orders', there was only one thing he could do. With another sigh, Rafe eyed the path Rude had gone down. Midgar was a huge place. There was no telling where Rude might have gone…

Coming out onto a main street, Rafe looked around. Of course there was no sign of Rude. He hadn't expected there to be. There were, however, a few people milling around: a couple giggling over something in a store display window; a lone woman in a dress; a man in a suit talking on his PHS. Rafe approached the woman.

"Excuse me, miss?"

The woman glanced up at him, her eyes wary. She clutched her bag just a little bit tighter, her knuckles going white from the pressure. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for a guy that might have gone by this way. He's a big guy, wearing a suit and black sunglasses. His head's shaved."

The woman shook her head. "Sorry. Haven't seen anyone like him." The wary look in her eyes was still there. Rafe didn't give it much thought; he was used to looks like that. Shrugging, he moved up the street without another word.

The street broke into three directions from here. Rafe's brows knitted together. Running a hand through his hair, he gave another sigh. He hadn't even been at it for fifteen minutes and already he was dead tired. His hand slid to cover his eyes. _What the hell is Reno doing, anyway? If this is so damned important to him, why isn't he tracking Rude down?_ He could hear Samantha laughing at him in his mind, the word 'sucker' tauntingly thrown at him, and gritted his teeth.

Okay. So the road split off into three directions. He tried asking a few more people in the area, but they hadn't seen Rude either. This was getting him nowhere. Damn it all, he was going home. Let Reno deal with it, it was his problem.

He was just turning around, heading for the nearest station when he heard the scream. A woman's; high pitched and filled with terror. Rafe's ears perked. The scream had come from the western end. Turning around, he ran.

"Somebody! Somebody help me!"

Rafe found them. A tall but lanky man in a cutter shirt and a woman in a green dress. The guy had one hand braced against the brick wall of the building behind the woman's head, the other hand gripping her elbow. And the woman was trying to escape, moving her head away from the man, who was slurring something at her, no doubt an invitation of some kind. She looked thoroughly disgusted and terrified. Rafe sighed. He'd seen this kind of thing often; often it had been his own ex-comrades who had done it. It wasn't that he thought it was morally reprehensible, but his job description now included the protection of citizens who were being harassed by unsavoury or dangerous elements. Taking one hand out of his trouser pocket, Rafe taped the guy on the shoulder. "Hey."

The woman's face flooded with relief and now, annoyance. "Oh thank Shiva! Can you get this guy off of me? He can't understand the word 'no'."

The would be Lothario whipped around. "Who the hell are you? Can't you see I'm trying to pick somebody up here?!" His breath stank of alcohol. Rafe took a step back.

Seeing Rafe's action as retreat, the man lurched forward, fist flying haphazardly in the general direction of Rafe's face. The man stumbled, and Rafe kicked out, sending his 'opponent' sprawling onto the pavement. The man got up, ready to take another shot at him, but Rafe had taken out his handguns, and drunk or not, the guy knew better than to mess with a guy who was armed. He spat on the pavement instead.

"Damn it! This isn't over! Don't think you've won!"

Watching him turn tail and run, Rafe shook his head. Behind him, the woman spoke, her voice tremulous. "Thank you so much… Could I ask you your name…?"

"I'm not someone worth knowing," he replied coolly. Making sure his handguns were tucked away safely, he turned around. "It was no problem." He cocked his head. "I do have a question for you, though. Have you seen a big guy in a black suit? He was wearing shades and his head was shaved." He made a gesture over his own head to elucidate. At his description, the woman nodded, smiling.

"Yes, I did see someone like that." Her voice was happy, eager even. Rafe wondered what there was to be so thankful for. He had just been doing his job, after all…

"Do you know which way he went?"

"Toward the east. He seemed like he was in a hurry."

"Thanks." Rafe stuck his hands in his pockets once more and changed his direction. East, then.

"Oh, no. I'm just grateful I could be of help," the woman called after him. If Rafe were the type, he would have rolled his eyes. He wasn't good at dealing with damsels in distress…

He made his way down the streets, going in a generally easterly direction. Every now and then he stopped to check he was on the right track by asking passers-by whether they'd seen Rude. He got a few more affirmative answers, which made him feel confident that he was getting closer. He'd just turned the corner when he bumped into somebody.

"I've been waiting for you. Payback, for earlier."

It was the man from before. Rafe looked around. And he'd brought backup. They closed ranks, leaving just enough space for him and the man.

"I've brought some buddies this time. Let's go, boys!"

Three against one. And if his guess was right, these two had been waiting for their leader all along, which meant… Rafe's eyes narrowed. It was a good thing he'd rescued that woman. He'd seen this kind of thing, too.

Taking his handguns out, he whirled around, spreading his arms out so he was locked onto two of them. The leader's eyes widened.

"You wouldn't –"

"Don't assume," Rafe said. Assumptions were the mother of all fuckups. He closed his eyes. "Poison!"

All three men went green – literally – as the energy from the Materia seeped through their pores and into their system. "Don't move," Rafe murmured lowly. "That'll only make the poison work faster. And you don't want that." He clicked the safety off his weapons. "If you are going to move it'd better be to the nearest hospital or potions shop. That might just save you."

Nobody moved for nearly a full minute. It was clear the men were deciding whether to carry on attacking Rafe or get the hell out of there. Rafe's eyes narrowed; his fingers steady. If they chose the wrong move, he wouldn't hesitate to pull the triggers.

Perhaps they could sense that; perhaps that was the deciding factor. Rafe had no way of knowing. They scattered, shouting curses at him as they ran. Rafe watched them go, a glint of amusement flashing in his violet eyes. "The potions shop isn't that way," he murmured.

Putting his guns away, he shook his head. It was back to business. East. Rude had gone east.

It wasn't easy finding Rude. He kept checking with people to make sure he was going in the right direction, but the night brought out all the weird people, and not even Rafe's reticent demeanour or his Turk suit could keep them at bay. As he disentangled himself from the grip of a woman who asked if he wouldn't rather 'come and have a good time with poopsie' he thought, not for the first time, that Reno was going to owe him big time for this.

After more questions, more weirdoes, and even one trip into the sewers, Rafe found himself all the way at the west end of the sector in a lamplit park looking for a flower vendor. Glancing at the time on his PHS, he gritted his teeth. It was almost 1 in the morning. It was just as well he didn't have anything big to do the next day (except another patrol with Reno and Rude, oh the joys!) but all the same, this was the last place he wanted to be. Why had he listened to Reno? Why couldn't he have just ignored his phone?

The park was beautiful, though Rafe wasn't paying it any mind. The trees and shrubs were festooned with sparkling lights, giving the place a romantic, almost otherworldly feel. There were plenty of couples out, even at this late hour, and a few vendors. None of them looked like they sold flowers, though.

Eventually, though, his gaze picked out a woman standing in front of an empty wagon. He came to a stop in front of her, gaze flicking from her to the wagon and back again. The woman smiled at him. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm all sold out for the night."

"What is it you sell?" he asked. What was Rude after, anyway? Why did he have to run all around the city, going so far as to delve into the sewers? What was so important that night after night he went around doing whatever it was he was doing? On top of their late-running shifts, he must be exhausted. Rafe knew that he definitely was.

"Flowers," the woman said. "The finest flowers Sector 8 has to offer." She made a gesture to her empty wagon, as if to add, "As you can see." Rafe nodded.

"Did a tall guy in a black suit and sunglasses pass by here? He's got a shaved head?"

The woman clapped her hands together. "As a matter of fact, he did! He's the one that bought the whole cart." She smiled. "He's actually a regular customer of mine, though he's never bought this many at the same time before." She titled her head. "I wonder who they're for."

"Do you know where he might have gone?" Now Rafe was curious. Despite his better judgement, he found that he wanted to keep following this trail, to know more.

"He said he was going to head to the bar," the woman replied. She pointed in the direction Rude had gone.

"Thanks." Well, he'd followed the trail this far. And damn Reno, he really wanted to know what Rude was doing now.

The bar wasn't one of the places he or any of the other Turks usually haunted. The place was tucked into a corner of a little cul-de-sac. It was a nice little place with a friendly, warm looking light pouring out softly from the windows. Rafe put his hand on the door. Was Rude in here?

As soon as he entered, he stopped in his tracks. His mind yelled at him to hide; Rude would definitely not appreciate seeing him here, like this. Spotting a small space between two thickly-leaved potted plants, Rafe thanked the gods above as he took his refuge.

Rude looked as relaxed as he'd ever seen the man get. Perhaps it was the company he was keeping: a woman with long, dark hair that seemed to shift from brown to almost grey depending on how she moved her head. She was laughing at something Rude was saying, and Rafe, despite himself, found that he was inching just that littlest bit closer to try and catch what was being said.

"…my favourite flowers. You remembered." The woman looked pleased. Ah. There were the flowers Rude had bought, a whole bouquet of them, as big as a sheep. It was a wonder they could converse at all; the flowers took up so much space on the bar counter that Rafe couldn't even see the woman behind them. Rude didn't seem bothered in the least, though.

"It was a coincidence. A flower vendor pushed them onto me…" Rude's low rumble was hesitant, almost shy. It wasn't as though he hadn't heard conversations like this before, but Rafe was suddenly very aware that he was intruding on a very private moment. Resisting the urge to squirm, he kept his ears open… though at this point he wasn't sure what he was doing here, and the only thing he was absolutely sure of was that Reno really was going to owe him big for this.

The woman chuckled, tossing her hair. "Oh? A coincidence… Even so, I'm happy." There was silence, and Rafe peeked through a small gap in the greenery. Rude was staring down at the bar. The lighting was dim, so Rafe certainly couldn't tell, but he could imagine Rude was blushing. Okay. This was too much. Rafe began to think of how he could possibly extricate himself from his current position and make his way toward the exit without being seen.

"Chelsea…"

So the woman's name was Chelsea. Interesting. Rafe started to get up from his crouch but immediately hunched down again when Rude's head came up. Rude's voice rumbled across the bar to Rafe's hiding spot.

"Don't tease."

Reno was going to pay.

Chelsea laughed, tossing her hair again. She reached an arm out, letting it land on Rude's shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice amused but warm. Rafe stifled a groan. Talk about awkward. How the hell was he going to look Rude in the face tomorrow?

_Two hours later_

Rafe's legs had long ago lost any feeling. Having found no avenue of escape, he'd stayed crouched behind the potted shrubs, watching Rude and his companion converse. Right now they were laughing over something Rude had encountered on one of his missions – not any of the classified stuff – Rude knew better than that, but one of Reno's many antics. Rafe rolled his eyes. He'd been there when it had happened. It had taken weeks for Reno's eyebrows to make an appearance again.

Chelsea's hand was covering her mouth, and she shook her head. "Is that true?"

"Yeah… it's true. It sounds like a lie, but it's true…" Rude looked pleased with himself. Rafe had never heard Rude speak as much as he was doing now, not in all the months he'd known him. The woman was pulling a miracle out of her hat here without even trying. If only Reno could see this now…

"How about your work?" Chelsea raised her wine glass to her mouth. "Have you been busy lately?"

"No…" Rude took a sip from his own glass. A double whiskey on the rocks.

Chelsea reached over to take Rude's hand. The flowers had been moved to a vase the barkeep had thoughtfully provided, and now decorated the end of the counter. Her voice was soft, concerned. "Take care of yourself. Don't tire yourself out."

"…you don't have to worry about it." Then, seeming to realize that he sounded a bit too abrupt, added "…but thank you." Chelsea didn't seem offended; it seemed she was used to this. She only shook her head, giving Rude's hand a squeeze before she moved.

"I had fun tonight. But I should get going now."

Rude stood up too. He gestured to the door. "I'll see you home."

Chelsea shook her head. "I'm fine by myself."

But Rude would have none of it. "I want to see you home," he said. Chelsea looked up at him, her mouth parted, an expression of surprise on her face. Then she smiled, laughing. Taking his proffered arm, they began to move toward the exit.

All Rafe's internal panic stations were on. The shrubbery wasn't that thick, and Rude, with his height, was bound to see over it. He couldn't imagine what the other man's reaction would be to finding his junior crouched like a peeping tom in the proverbial bushes. Briefly he wondered if he'd kept his medical insurance up to date.

But they passed him by, the door opening and shutting before Rafe could do anything. Rafe breathed out, feeling slightly dizzy; he'd been holding his breath the entire time. Thank Shiva Rude hadn't spotted him. After several attempts at standing up (his legs were going fast from the numb stage to the pins and needles stage), he hobbled out of the bar and leaned against the wall.

Damn. He'd seen too much. And now he felt guilty and awkward. The truth was, he'd never seen Rude look that happy before. But he had this horrible feeling that had been gnawing at him from the moment he'd spotted Rude and Chelsea in that bar, and the feeling was only making itself clear to him now.

It was the feeling that said that whatever happiness Rude had found, it couldn't possibly last. Sooner or later, something would come along to smash it to pieces.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ Wow. This whole bit correlates roughly to the first section of Episode 6 in Before Crisis. I can't believe it came out as fast as it did, or as easily. I chose Rafe for this chapter because I've hardly used him at all in the story so far, and he is the most reticent and closed-off of all the newbie Turks we've come across so far. I just wanted to see how he'd handle himself in this situation, and I was a bit surprised at the results. Pleasantly. :)

Anyway, lemme know what you think, yeah?


	27. Holiday Cheer

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

**By DarkAngel**

_Disclaimer:_ The almighty Square of the Enix owns it, not I.

* * *

**Chapter 27: Holiday Cheer**

When Tseng had put his signature on the release form that Rosalind had submitted, she had wasted no time in preparing for her journey home. It had been almost a full year since she'd been able to go and see her family; although she called them every now and again, and even managed the occasional one day trip home, it wasn't the same as _being_ with them. Needless to say, she was excited.

"I'll be able to see mom and maybe dad – assuming he isn't going to be doing the winter term drills this year – and I haven't seen Kelvin or Elena in ages –" It was rare, seeing her get so excited about something, and Reno had merely laughed, ruffling Rosalind's hair. For once she didn't swat him or glare; she was far too preoccupied with thoughts of seeing her family again.

"Take it easy, rookie," Reno said, shaking his head in a worldly way. St. Andrew rolled his eyes at Reno's 'father knows best' attitude, but said nothing. Samantha, who had been flipping through a magazine, looked up at Rosalind, pouting.

"How come you get to go home and I don't?"

"You probably didn't fill out the right form," Rafe replied coolly. He was sitting at the desk across from hers, polishing his guns. Samantha stuck out her tongue at him.

"I did! I even left them in Tseng's inbox, but he never even told me he got it. And now it's too late!" She slammed her magazine shut, glaring at them all, as if they were to blame for her lack of vacation time.

Reno and Rude exchanged glances. Eventually, Reno ventured, "Uh, Sam? When you say Tseng's inbox, where do you mean?"

"Well the one on top of his desk, of course!" Samantha snapped, looking at Reno with one eyebrow lifted, as though he were subnormal.

Reno sighed. "Yeah, I was afraid you'd say that."

"That –"

"…isn't his inbox," Rosalind cut across Rude, sparing him an apologetic glance as she did so.

"The stack of papers on his desk, right? That's what you're talking about, right?" Samantha asked, exasperation evident in her voice. She threw up an arm for extra emphasis. "Why are you all being so mysterious?"

Rosalind glanced at St. Andrew, who looked at Rafe. Rafe flicked a look at Rude, who glanced at Reno. There was an internal five-way conference before the eventual spokesperson was decided. It was Rosalind who sighed and bit the bullet.

"Samantha, that's not Tseng's inbox."

The other woman looked at Rosalind dubiously; one perfect brow arching in a way that clearly said she thought Rosalind was being daft. "Oh, really."

This was why nobody really tried to correct Samantha when she was wrong. On her better days she would go on as though she hadn't heard the offensive piece of news; on her more irate days, she would do _this_.

"She's telling the truth, rookie," Reno said, coming to Rosalind's rescue. "Look, he uses that bit of his desk for gathering all the reports he's received from the week and then he sends them on down to the archives." He waggled his eyebrows at her, sticking his tongue out. "I can just imagine it now – the Shin-Ra archivists finding a round-filed holiday application in with all the mission reports."

There was a silence that reigned for the better part of thirty seconds. And then Samantha opened her mouth on a screech, leaping up. Reno scrambled off from his perch on Rude's desk, and St. Andrew started to guffaw. Rafe merely shook his head and returned his attention to his computer screen. Rosalind sat bemused, tapping a pen. While she was thankful that Reno had saved her, she couldn't help but wonder if some of the men in this building enjoyed the punishment.

"So Rosie, you're gonna bring us back some souvenirs, right?" St. Andrew leaned back in his chair, tipping it so far back she was afraid he'd fall right over. With a heavy clunk, the chair returned to its upright position and Rosalind breathed a small sigh of relief before responding.

"Oh… you're from Junon, right? Was there something you wanted?" She wasn't exactly going far – after all, the Midgar slums was kind of accessible any time of year to any of them. Still, she figured it couldn't hurt to be polite, and St. Andrew was her partner. He grinned at her, showing teeth, and despite herself, she smiled back. Only just.

"I'm from Midgar same as you, actually. Moved when I was a little older," he said, the grin still in place. He flicked a pen into the air, catching it neatly in one hand before repeating the process again.

"Why did you move?" Rosalind was curious. "Was it the slums?"

"Naw. I was born on the plate."

Rosalind's brow furrowed. She could understand people wanting to get out of the slums, but life on the plate was –

Perhaps St. Andrew could predict her line of thought. Giving the pen one last flip, he caught it before jamming it into his desk drawer. "I left because there was nothing left for me here." Although the smile never left his face, she could have sworn there was a clip to his voice that hadn't been there before. Nodding, she let it go.

Which left her wondering, now she was on holiday, just what to get him and the others. It wasn't as though she had to, but the part of her that had always grown up with niceties and rules told her it was the polite thing to do. She spent a lot of her time with her mother. Her father, as she'd suspected, was busy overseeing some holiday classes over at the academy; Elena, although on break, was holing herself up in her room or was at the library a lot of the time. And Kelvin… well, she hadn't seen him since he'd received his last posting. Such was life, she supposed, though she couldn't help but feel a small pang in her chest. She'd really been hoping to see the whole family again.

"It can't be helped," her mother said with a delicate shrug and a pacifying arm on her older daughter's shoulder. "They all wanted to come, but when duty calls…"

"Yeah." Rosalind nodded, though she still couldn't shake the negative feelings from her mind. "I know." Elena, at least, could have come out, but she kept saying she wanted to be ready for the post-holiday exams. Rosalind couldn't shake the feeling that her sister was avoiding her.

And so it was that she found herself in one of the city's shopping arcades, looking for suitable souvenirs to bring back when she saw it. She'd agreed to meet her mother later that evening; Elena had (miraculously) agreed to come out of study mode that evening, so they were all going to work on dinner together.

She was standing in a jewellery shop, looking ruefully at the list Samantha had given her when something dashed by in the periphery of her vision. Normally, Rosalind wouldn't have looked up, but it was late afternoon; plenty of shoppers were outside, doing the same as she was, or else strolling leisurely along the boulevard. They weren't dashing madly as though Bahamut was nipping at their heels. She looked up just in time to see a dark grey blur pass by the shop window. Moments later, a woman ran past, screaming. The shoppers stopped what they were doing to stare. Rosalind's brow furrowed. The slums were noted for this kind of thing, but really…

It only took a moment's consideration and then Rosalind was out the door, running after the woman. It wasn't that difficult to track them. The woman was screaming at the top of her lungs and the figure in grey was shoving people out of his way, toppling things as he went. Rosalind overtook the woman and jumped neatly over a bunch of spilled cans. She zigzagged between the crowds of people, ignoring the surprised gasps as she passed.

The grey-clad assailant looked back momentarily and jerked a little in his run. Rosalind smiled grimly. Picking up speed, she rounded a corner, dodging a stack of tiles that had been left on the ground. The thief, for now Rosalind could see the blue purse clutched under his arm, stopped. "Who the hell are you?!"

Rosalind raised an eyebrow. It wasn't even a dead end…

The purse snatcher was hunched over in what Rosalind had initially thought was a threatening manner. He was reaching into his pocket and belatedly, Rosalind bemoaned the fact that she'd left her gun at home. The words _'Turk off duty'_ flitted through her mind, and she grimaced. How naïve she'd been.

She nearly dropped her fighting stance when the assailant took out not a knife or gun as she'd been expecting, but…

There was a small whooshing sound, and a small cough. Rosalind blinked.

Was that…?

An asthma inhaler?

"Um…" She wasn't sure just how to proceed. Taking a step forward, she reached out an arm for the purse. The man stuffed his inhaler back into his jacket pocket and took off at a run again.

"Damn it!" Rosalind made a grab for the thief, but he was surprisingly fast. She concentrated on picking up her speed. She only hoped the others were having a better time than she was right now…

-----

Here they were again. Two days before Winter Day and still the same old. Only it wasn't. Rafe watched uncomfortably as Reno and Rude repeated their routine: Reno announcing that it was time to call it a night and Rude making his excuses. They watched the taller man walk down the path. Rafe knew that as soon as Rude was out of sight, it would begin. He didn't want to tell the redhead what he'd seen last night. His previous work had been full of private affairs and gossip, but it just didn't feel right.

So when Reno, predictably, prodded him for more information, Rafe considered his options. He could tell him anyway, and watch Rude's love boat sink faster than a man encased in two hundred pounds of concrete; he could play dumb and try to distract Reno onto another topic; or he could run. That last option was dismissed easily. There was no way he was going to outrun the fastest Turk in the service. It would only lead to pain and embarrassment on his part anyway.

Option B it was, then.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

The look Reno shot him told Rafe that he wasn't buying it.

"I sent you out yesterday, didn't I? So let's hear it."

Rafe's mind whirred with the possibilities. Was there anything going on tonight that he could drag Reno to? Maybe there was something important he'd forgotten at home. Come to think of it, Rafe thought, he might have left his wallet back at HQ…

"What's wrong? Don't tell me you didn't find anything. You're a Turk, aren't you?" Reno's voice was mocking, though there was something else under that tone that Rafe didn't entirely like. He didn't think the other man would resort to violence to get what he wanted, but then again, with Reno you just couldn't tell sometimes. Especially when it came to stuff connected with his partner.

Option B had now sprung several leaks and was bubbling under the surface.

"He was with a woman," Rafe said curtly, hoping that this would put an end to things. Not even Reno would be so insensitive as to butt in on something like this –

"What?!" Reno's eyebrows shot up, disappearing into his bangs. "That's news to me. All right, we're gonna get over there right now!" Rafe almost expected the other man to whoop as he started sprinting in the direction Rude had gone. He turned, watching his senior with disbelief etched clear on his face. He really wasn't going to… Was he?

"Hey, let's just leave him alone," Rafe called. This really wasn't his thing, and he had no idea what Reno had in the way of hobbies, but if peeping on his best friend was one of them, it was something Rafe would rather Reno did alone.

But the redhead was already far gone, turning the corner. Rafe sighed, watching the tail end of his suit jacket disappear. Well, at least he was doing it by himself. There would be no need for Rafe to get involved with this, thank Shiva. Sticking his hands in his pockets, Rafe began walking too. It had been a while since he'd spent some time to himself. There was probably stuff in the apartment that needed tidying or whatever…

The phone in his pocket rang. Rafe grimaced. If that was Reno…

"It's me," came a gruff voice that sounded as though several rocks had gotten lodged in the throat. Veld. Well, it was far better than anything Reno could have thrown at him.

"Boss," Rafe murmured in acknowledgement. He listened as Veld filled him in. There had been an outbreak of monsters in Sector 8. While there had been no serious injuries, the fact remained that citizens of Midgar were getting attacked by the creatures.

"You're the closest agent we've got to the outbreak spot," Veld went on. "I want you to eliminate all the monsters in the area."

Acknowledging his orders, Rafe hung up. He was relieved that it wasn't Reno. Clearly the other man was determined to find out for himself, with or without cooperation. At the same time, he really hoped Reno wouldn't end up doing something stupid. He worked with both of them and the last thing he needed was tension, especially the kinds of tensions that formed when a woman was involved.

He looked over at the mini-map Veld had sent to his PHS. The outbreak location wasn't too far from where he was now. His brow furrowed. They'd done an inspection of the area. Why hadn't they detected anything like this? Why had it only been brought to their attention now?

A scream broke him from his musings. Rafe ran to the source of the sound, taking his handguns out of their holsters as he went.

A woman was backing away, terrified, from what looked like an overgrown praying mantis. Rafe blinked. These guys definitely weren't native to Midgar. He hadn't seen anything like it even in the slums, and below-plate was notorious for the vermin that dwelled there.

The woman's gaze caught his. "Please, help me." She whimpered, screaming as the monster came closer, raising a sickled forelimb.

"Stay back," he ordered the woman. He rushed in. Disposing of the creature took no time at all. All it took was a couple of bullets before the mess that had been the praying mantis was taken care of. Taking a step toward the downed monster, he prodded it lightly with its foot, holding back a grimace as he heard the crack of the carapace giving way. He turned his attention back to the woman, who had been watching the entire time.

"Thank you so much," the woman said, once her stuttering had cleared. She smiled shakily. "If there's anything I can do…"

Rafe shook his head. "I'm not anyone worth remembering. It was nothing anyway."

The woman stared at him, open mouthed. Rafe, realizing he was still armed, put away his weapons and stuck his hands in his pockets. He shifted uncomfortably. He loped back down the streets, ignoring the woman. He had never been good at this kind of thing…

He managed to find the source of the outbreak with little trouble. Some enterprising citizens had taken care of some of the bugs, and he found scattered bits of shell and flesh and other debris along the way. He shuddered to think of just how large this infestation might be. If it got out of Sector 8… The gooseflesh on his arms rose. Better not to contemplate that possibility. That's what he was here for, anyway.

As indicated on the map, there was a manhole at the end of the alley. It was slightly ajar, and at this, Rafe frowned. He didn't know the strength of these bugs, but he had a hard time imagining they could push aside a heavy metal manhole cover.

Rafe lifted the cover. He peered down. There was nothing suspicious. He began to climb down.

The main passage from where he was standing ran for about fifty metres before branching off into different directions. There was no telling where exactly the monsters were coming from. It all came down to picking a direction and hoping it was the right one. Rafe tapped a command into his PHS. It affirmed his actions with a satisfying soft beep. Now it would keep track of where he'd gone in the sewers. With any luck it wouldn't take long for him to find the creatures he was supposed to be taking care of.

Which just left the problem of a light source. Rafe's eyes had adjusted a little in the time he'd been down here, but not nearly enough to navigate, and his PHS couldn't do everything for him. He hit the number for the boss. Within moments he was navigating his way through the tunnels, Veld's directions and the PHS guiding him.

Eventually, he found himself scrabbling at the wall, feeling for the metal box that housed the breaker. His hand found a likely candidate, and he lifted the switch up. With a loud clapping sound and a humming noise, the lights came on. Great. It was time to get to work.

He followed the map on his PHS, clearing out any monsters he saw on his way. He had to suppress a shudder every time one fell under his attack. Their bodies were still soft, the protective shells not having hardened yet. They left quite the mess, and Rafe had to step carefully to keep from slipping on the excretions they left behind. What a way to be spending the holidays. More than ever, he wondered if he'd really made the right choice in leaving the Don. After all, taking care of those elements that had been targeting him was infinitely easier than what he was doing now…

When Rafe turned the corner he came face to face with what was arguably the most shocking and grotesque things he'd seen in his entire life.

"….." Rafe swallowed. It was _huge_. Where the other monsters he'd been dealing with had been big, they had only come up to just past his shins. This one… you could put a harness on the damned thing and _ride_ it.

That wasn't the only difference. Rafe watched with dismay as the tough shell of the creature repelled his bullets. Whatever magic he threw at it bounced off its hide. In a list of thoroughly disheartening situations, this definitely made the top five. As much as it shamed him to admit it, there was only one option left.

He turned and ran.

As soon as he was out of the sewers, he hit Veld's number.

"What's your situation?" Veld asked. Rafe could have laughed. Where could he even begin on that one?

"There's a giant monster living there. It looks like a giant praying mantis. None of my attacks worked against it."

"A praying mantis, you say?" There was a pause. "This could mean trouble."

_No kidding_, Rafe thought sourly. He wasn't used to losing, and the fact that he'd lost to an overgrown bug was like a canker sore on his pride. "Do you know what it is, boss?"

"They're Kimara Bugs." Veld's replied calmly, given that they were facing a potential major outbreak of bugs that definitely fit Rafe's definition of creepy. "One of their distinguishing characteristics is their shells. They're tough enough to protect them from most forms of attack."

_Oh. I'm glad that we've got that cleared up, then. _"Is there any effective way of taking them out?"

"They're only weak against water-based attacks. You can defeat them if you have a Water or Watera Materia."

Rafe's inventory currently didn't have any such Materia in it.

"Rafe, return to Headquarters for now. You can get what you need, then go back."

There was no other way to do it, really. His pride might have been wounded, but he wasn't so stupid that he was going to take the monster on with his bare hands or some other foolhardy venture. "Roger." He shoved his hands in his pockets and began the walk back to HQ. He would get what he needed, and then he would crush every last one of those monsters. Starting with the big one.

-----

Rosalind blinked. "So you're telling me –" She paused, trying to get the story straight. "You're telling me that you needed money to buy Winter Day gifts for your brothers."

She'd caught up with the purse snatcher, and after a brief altercation, had liberated the purse. The man lay on his knees, gasping. He nodded.

Rosalind frowned. "You know, stealing isn't nice."

The man stared at her for a moment. Apparently he'd decided that fighting back, even verbally, wasn't going to get him anywhere, because he nodded once more.

"Well, I'm going to return this purse to its owner." She gave him a look. "You're coming with me."

The man gaped. He would have said more, but a fit of coughs racked his body. Rosalind felt a small stab of pity. Well, it wasn't as though she didn't know what it was like to be poor. Before her father had started at the academy they'd lived in pretty similar conditions. It was Shin-Ra's scouts that had given their family the chance they needed. It had only last month that the family had been able to finally afford a house outside of the slums; as a matter of fact, after the holiday season, her family would be relocating to Junon.

Shaking herself back into the present, Rosalind placed a hand on her hip. "Once we find this woman, I want to meet your family." She paused. "If it turns out you're telling the truth… well, I want to help. If it turns out you're lying just to get off easy…" She trailed off. The sentence didn't need finishing. The man nodded fervently. He made a grab for his inhaler. Rosalind watched him dispassionately. She waited for him to finish, then turned.

"Okay. Let's go. I think that woman must still be around here somewhere…"

-----

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" If this woman bowed any lower, Rosalind thought, she was going to sweep the ground with her head. She squeezed her fingers around the purse snatcher's – Jed, he'd said his name was – wrist. Jed hadn't tried escaping or fighting since Rosalind had caught up with him, and this made Rosalind wonder if he wasn't telling the truth. Still, she wasn't letting go of him anytime soon.

"Can I do something for you? Anything, please do let me help!" The woman was still bobbing, and Rosalind was getting a little nauseous. She held up her free hand.

"That's all right, really. I only did what was right. And I'll be taking this gentleman with me, so…"

The woman shot him a loathing glare. Rosalind repressed a sigh. She didn't want drama. She just wanted to resolve this, get a few souvenirs, meet up with her mother and head back home. Finally, she managed to extricate herself and Jed from the situation and they made their way back to the innermost area of the slum. They were silent for a few moments until Jed spoke up.

"Hey, thanks."

Rosalind shot him a look.

"For saving me. You could have turned me in, but you didn't."

"Don't thank me yet," Rosalind replied dryly, looking away again. "What happens to you next is entirely dependent on your honesty. Are you an honest man, Jed?"

He laughed at that. "More than some 'round these parts, Miss."

Rosalind smiled. "I see," was the only thing she said.

The little shack (for there really was no more appropriate word: it was four sheets of metal propped up by large beams of wood) housed three people. Jed and his brothers had been living here for almost two years now. "Pops died in the war, see, and Ma… well, she followed him soon after. The docs at the time said it was an illness, but I'm going to go with the old cliché that it was a broken heart."

Rosalind watched the younger boys at play. The older one couldn't have been more than ten, and the younger one according to Jed was turning six in a few months. She'd never had to live like this even when the family had been living in the slums. Jed and his family were a lot worse off than she and her family had ever been.

"What were you going to buy them?" Rosalind asked quietly, when they'd gone off a slight ways away from the shack and the boys playing a game of tag around it. It was obvious the elder brother was going easy on the younger: he would occasionally stop and wait for the younger one to come around the corner before running again; at other times he would pretend to trip up and let his younger brother tag him. Rosalind smiled. They reminded her of her years growing up here. Back when everyone had been at home and there hadn't been the strain in their relationships like there was now.

Jed rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "Well, it's nothing big, see. Tyke – that's the little one – is a huge fan of Sephiroth and wanted an action figure. And Wes…" He went quiet for a moment. "Wes wants to keep going to school. Says he wants to be smart enough to join Shin-Ra some day."

"…I see." She wasn't sure how to respond in any other way. In a lot of ways, this family was like her own. She shifted. "And you? What is it you want?"

Jed looked surprised at that. "Me?" He pointed to himself. "Well, I guess I want my brothers close to me. And other things that are kind of impossible." He smiled, waving his hand airily. "Forget about it."

Rosalind gave this some thought. They were simple enough requests. Easy enough for some, and a world away for others. "I'll see what I can do," she said at last.

Jed held up his hands. "No, it's all right, really. I mean, I did try, yeah? I guess I just have to try something else." At her look, he shook his head and grinned. "No more purse snatchings, I promise." Rosalind tried to offer him something, but he was adamant about not accepting anything. There was only one thing to do, then. She smiled, shrugging.

"I guess I'll wish you good luck, then. Thank you, Jed."

He looked surprised. "Er, you're welcome?"

Rosalind just smiled and waved. She began the trip back home.

As soon as she was out of sight, she took out her PHS. "I'd like to speak with the promotions department…"

A week later, Jed and his brothers woke to a delivery man from the surface carrying a small package. Books, vouchers, money, a Sephiroth action figure, and a small note. As Jed opened the note and read, a smile crossed his face.

Miracles like these came but once a year for some, and for others, never. He was, he thought, one of the luckier ones.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_ Yes, I went on a huge side-trip with Rosalind's holiday. :P My reasoning could best be described as, "I felt like it. So I did it." I reworked this chapter so many times. I hope it's to your liking. Next chapter will bring us back to our regularly scheduled programming. Rafe goes monster hunting. Reno pokes his honcho into Rude's love life. All fun and good times on the next instalment of _The Beginning_!


	28. Extermination Time

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer: _Not even a small scrap of it belongs to me.

* * *

**Chapter 28: Extermination Time**

Rafe looked over his newly replenished stock with a grim satisfaction. In addition to the Water Materia he'd picked up from the Turks stockroom, he'd reloaded his gun with piercing bullets. They, just as their name suggested, were designed to pierce through things like Kevlar vests and other reinforced surfaces with about 2.5 times more ease than the average bullet. And just to be on the safe side, he'd upgraded his potions and taken an extra bottle of Ether with him. Armed to the teeth was a phrase specifically reserved for occasions such as this.

He was back in Sector 8 in no time, making the trip down the sewers. His PHS highlighted for him in an orange line the path he had traversed to find the Kimara Bug. There was no guarantee it would still be there, but Rafe had a suspicion it wouldn't go so far. After all, many of those bugs seemed to be concentrated there, so it stood to reason there was a nest. What parent would leave its home and hearth undefended?

His mouth stretched into a thin smile. He would find it. And he would put it on his wall.

Wait. Scratch that last one. That was something his partner would say, not him. Rafe shook his head. Samantha was starting to influence him, and not entirely in a good way.

Let's try that again. He would find it. And he would dispose of it before it even knew what hit it.

There, much better.

Clicking the safety off his guns, he dashed forward. It wasn't long before he saw the smaller Kimara Bugs once more. He took a grim satisfaction in seeing them going down. A couple of times they tried to swarm him, but their limited intelligence meant that that they couldn't respond much less strategize in the same way he could. He took them out by the dozens that way.

He was almost so caught up in his hunt that he didn't notice the passage of time until he checked his PHS once more and saw that nearly two hours had passed since he had entered the sewers. He blinked. He hadn't even started. He hadn't even found the big one…

Rafe took the moment to pinch his nose between one forefinger and thumb. He really was starting to sound like Samantha. Shiva alive, next thing he knew, he'd be trading in his handguns for an oversized rifle or submachine gun. It was definitely time to call it a night. He placed a call to Veld, who took in his report.

"We'll send some maintenance teams to deal with the worst of it," Veld rumbled. "In the event they don't find the mother, you'll go back in there again after your patrol."

"Roger." Rafe would rather have dealt with the Kimara Bugs than go on yet another patrol, but he wasn't about to argue. In a lot of ways, disobeying Veld was much worse than disobeying the Don. It was like comparing having to fight one-on-one with an Elfadunk to going tete-a-tete with a Behemoth.

With a rueful sigh, he pocketed his PHS. Tomorrow was another day. He looked around him at the scattered corpses of the bugs. After giving the matter some thought, he shrugged and left. The maintenance crews were coming down here anyway, right? He had bigger fish to fry anyway.

* * *

It was probably for the best, Reno decided, that Rafe had declined to come. There wasn't enough room behind this shrub for the both of them, and he already knew what his best friend's reaction would be to finding not just one, but both of them skulking here. Not that he was skulking. No, this was high-level reconnaissance. Shin-Ra's elite would never stoop so low as to peep. So logically, this was a very important mission.

He'd gotten in just as Rude had been settling himself down the bar. He took a seat beside a woman with long hair and pale skin. From where Reno was crouched, he could make out her assets and he nodded half with approval before wrinkling his nose in disgust. He was totally not here to check out other women, especially other women his partner chose to canoodle with.

"Did you wait long?" Rude's deep voice rumbled, carrying across the bar to where Reno crouched, hoping against all hope that his hair wouldn't give him away. Would it have killed the place to get in some wildflowers? As it was, he stood out in the way a poinsettia did against the greenery.

He slouched down further as the woman answered in a soft voice. "No, not at all. I got here just moments before you came."

There was a prolonged silence, and Reno took the risk and raised his head a millimetre to see what was going on. The woman was looking at Rude with a puzzled expression. She waved a hand lightly in front of his face.

"Rude? Are you all right? You're a little off today."

"Chelsea –" Ah, so that was her name. Reno catalogued the factoid automatically, as he did with everything else he came across. Training was hard to break, and this scenario certainly was no exception.

"Hm?" Chelsea tilted her head, her hair falling across the bar top like a silky curtain. She had a half-smile on her lips as she waited for whatever it was Rude was going to say.

"You don't have to lie to me."

Reno actually smacked his palm to his face. This was Rude's brand of an "I love you dearly" sort of affection. Only, for someone who didn't know Rude as well as he did, it could come off as really… well… rude. (Not to mention abrupt; terse; unexpected; and a whole host of other emotions that ran the gamut from surprised to offended, but never mind that for now).

"What are you saying?" Well, she didn't _sound_ offended. That was good. A bit surprised, maybe a little shocked, but not offended. Reno risked another glance over the plants. Rude was back to playing it silent now, and he could see Chelsea watching him, waiting patiently for his answer. He groaned mentally. Was this how every date between them went? Why had Rafe not told him about this? Cutting off a groan, he waited.

After some moments, Chelsea looked down and spoke. "I… waited for half an hour. I'm sorry. I won't lie to you." Reno had to strain his ears to catch her whispers.

"I…" Rude seemed to be searching for something to say. For his sake, Reno hoped it was a little more inspired than some of the other nuggets he'd heard. Then again, the woman, Chelsea, seemed to understand Rude's silences… which was something that he thought that only he could do. He shrugged.

"No matter what happens, my feelings for you won't change."

There. See? That was much better. Reno felt like applauding, but his reconnaissance mission parameters clearly stated that this was an observation only mission. In no way was he to interfere with the targets.

Chelsea obviously thought it was a good one too, because the way she said his name, he could all but picture her with her hand over her heart, eyes sparkling, vision misted with tears. His back was hurting. Shifting lower, he wondered how much longer he'd have to do this. Rafe was right. He shouldn't be here, interfering. His curiosity by now was more than satisfied and now he felt just _wrong_ being here.

It was when the bartender asked Rude what he wanted and Rude replied with his order that Reno groaned. Hard liquor. Oh man oh man oh man. He was in for a _long_ night. Rude only drank that stuff when he was a) trying to absorb some really bad news or b) settling in for a long chat with someone. And judging by the way things were going, it wasn't going to be the latter.

Two hours later. Reno's left leg had fallen asleep, there was a sharp pain shooting up his back, and his neck was really, really stiff. Reno wondered when it would end. His heart (not to mention other parts of his body) leapt for joy when he heard the scrape of a bar stool against the floor and saw Rude stand up. Great.

"Rude? Where are you going?" Chelsea said. Reno's brow furrowed. He was going home, wasn't he?

There was another long silence. Reno waited. Chelsea waited. Then –

"…..to the bathroom."

It was just too bad there was no convenient table nearby upon which to bang his head. For that was what Reno dearly wanted to do at this very moment, for so many reasons. He peered over the plants in disbelief, watching as Rude's broad back made a beeline for the men's room. This was how he dealt with a conversational stumbling block? With his girlfriend? _Oi oi_.

They both watched as Rude disappeared behind the door. And then Chelsea jerked, startled, as something caught her attention. For a split second, Reno thought he'd been caught.

But no, she wasn't facing this way. She was staring at something on the bar top. Reno's eyes narrowed. A small, black, rectangular thing. It was very similar to one Reno had in his jacket pocket. He pulled it out, opening it as quietly as possible and holding down the button to activate its silent mode. _Thanks for reminding me, buddy_. He looked back over.

What was she doing? Chelsea was looking at where Rude had gone, then around at the bar. Reno slouched lower. And then she was reaching out her arm for the PHS… Reno frowned.

Chelsea jerked her hand away, looking flushed. Her body scrunched in on itself. He couldn't see her expression as her hair was hiding her face from his view, but Reno's suspicious radar was blaring. Something was up with that woman. She'd tried to do something to Rude's phone. Maybe she was trying to check to see if he'd been calling other girls. There was that, but…

But it didn't feel right. And Reno's hunches always bore fruit.

Reno went back to slouching behind the greenery when Rude came out. He seemed to have picked up on her expression. "Is something the matter Chelsea?"

"No." A pause. "It's nothing."

When it became obvious that no further response was forthcoming, Rude shrugged it off and changed the subject instead.

"Hey, Chelsea…"

Reno rolled his eyes. Rude was working up to something big. Damn this ability to read his partner's silences. It made things that much more awkward sometimes.

"Tomorrow… We should… go see the Winter Day tree… together."

"Oh, you mean the one in the West Park." Chelsea said delightedly. "It must be really beautiful… it's a lot better than seeing it alone…" There was something in her voice. Loneliness? Regret? Resolve? It was difficult to tell. Reno pondered that one briefly before turning his attention back to the conversation.

"There's… something I want to tell you there."

What? _What?_ Surely it wasn't going to be a proposal, was it? Reno knew just how much of a closet romantic Rude was, but this was a bit much, wasn't it? Veld aside, did Turks even marry? Then it hit him that tomorrow was Winter Day Eve. Oh, lovely. He just couldn't wait for the announcement.

Chelsea was teasing Rude, attempting to cajole him into telling her right then and there but Rude was adamant. He would tell her tomorrow. And then Chelsea was standing up and for a wild second, Reno thought Rude had done it – he'd unintentionally pissed her off. "What's wrong?" Rude asked.

"I should get going," Chelsea said. She didn't sound angry. Reno wasn't sure whether to breathe a sigh of relief or… Well, it was complicated. Especially since he had an idea of what this woman might be. _Rude, if you're planning what I think you're planning, you're setting yourself up for a big fall, buddy_.

"You're going already…" It wasn't a question, though it was tinged with regret.

"I'm sorry. You can stay here and enjoy your drink." She leaned in. Reno went back to squeezing himself down.

They broke apart. "I'll be waiting tomorrow under the tree," Rude said.

"Yes. I'll see you there. I'm looking forward to it."

There it was again. That tone that Reno couldn't identify. He slouched down as far as he could as Chelsea passed, leaving a cloud of perfume in her wake. His brows knitted together. What was with her? There was something unusual about her, and his senses never lied. Which left him with only one choice.

Checking to make sure Rude was preoccupied, he dashed out the door. It didn't take long to catch up with Chelsea – she wasn't in any hurry to get where she was going. He ducked behind a lamppost a couple of metres from his target and waited.

"I can't do this anymore…" It was now that Reno could identify what he couldn't before. It was regret. She'd already made her decision about something.

She started walking once more and Reno followed, making sure that he wasn't too far from her. When she turned a corner, Reno frowned. That was a dead end, wasn't it? What was she going to do there?

He ducked behind the wall and watched as Chelsea looked both ways before kneeling down and lifting up a manhole cover. Reno's eyebrows shot up. He waited until she'd gone down before following her, landing agilely on the ground. He could hear voices coming off from not too far away.

Following the source of the voices, Reno's eyes widened. He'd been right. Oh damned hellfire, he'd been right. He wished he hadn't been.

Because there was Chelsea. And standing with her were AVALANCHE operatives.

"You planted the surveillance device, didn't you?" one operative was asking. Reno's brow furrowed. So that's why she had been interested in Rude's phone. _Oh Gods, Rude. You sure know how to pick 'em_.

"No, I didn't get the chance to," Chelsea said apologetically. "I'll get it done tomorrow, you'll see."

"Hurry it up, already!" the operative snarled.

But she'd had her chance when Rude had gone to the bathroom, hadn't she? Why hadn't she taken it?

_"I can't do this anymore…" _Reno twitched. No. It couldn't be. But that meant… He could have laughed. She'd fallen for him. This was something right out of a tragic play. He held a hand to his head. This was more trouble than he'd bargained for.

* * *

Another night, another patrol finished. Rafe watched as Reno and Rude began their traditional exchange: Reno saying he was beat and ready to return to HQ and Rude was making his excuses. Rafe looked at a spot on the wall beyond them. Now that he knew what was going on with Rude, he didn't want to have any part of it. He hadn't wanted to have anything to do with it in the first place, but really… _Give up, Reno_.

But today something was different. Reno called Rude back. Rafe's head snapped up.

"You gonna go see that girl again?" Rafe's mouth fell open. No way. _He didn't just say that_.

"I wouldn't go if I were you," Reno continued. Rafe stood frozen, watching the two men.

"She's a –"

"I know." Rude cut across Reno. The redhead's head shot up, eyes wide. Rafe blinked. What the hell was going on here?

"Don't say anything else," Rude rumbled. He hadn't turned the whole time. Rafe wondered just what Rude was thinking. More to the point, he wanted to know what was going on. What had he missed?

"Rude… You knew?" Reno's voice registered a 9.5 on the shocked scale. Rafe could only turn his attention from one man to the other, as though he was watching a ping pong match.

"…sorry. I'm no good at things like this," Rude said. With that, he left. Rafe turned to Reno.

"What was that about?"

Reno shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Aw, you know. When you're older you'll get it, kiddo."

Rafe raised his eyebrows. Okay. He had no idea just what Reno meant by that, but before he could make an issue of it, a PHS rang. Reflexively, he reached into his jacket pocket, but Reno fished his own out and gestured to Rafe, _It's mine_. Rafe waited, watching as Reno's face changed from helplessness to an expression that clearly stated that things were all business now. "Right, boss. We'll get on it right away." He turned to Rafe.

"Mission time. I'm worried about Rude, so let's get this done with as fast as possible."

Perplexed, Rafe could only nod. What was it that Reno had seen last night to make him this agitated?

They made their way to the sewers. Rafe lead the way, using the route he'd mapped when he'd come down here the night before. Suddenly Rafe saw something move out of the corner of his eye and held his hand out for Reno to stop. They both peered around the corner just in time to see a Kimara Bug crossing a pipe and going around the corner. It crawled into a hole and disappeared from view.

"What the hell is that?"

"A Kimara Bug," Rafe replied. "I'm guessing that hole is where the eggs are."

Reno shrugged. "Well, I guess we're going in then. Down the hatch!"

The hole the insect had gone down was actually a maintenance hatch. They scrambled down the ladder into a sub-level of the sewers.

"You take the front, I'll guard the rear," Reno said. Rafe nodded.

"Okay, let's go."

They ran into more of the insects along the way. Between Rafe and Reno, they made quick work of them. Reno crinkled his nose. "Man, it's gonna be a bitch to clean this mess up." He held up his EMR, showing Rafe the gory remains of bug splattered all over it. Rafe shrugged. At least his handguns were ranged weapons. He didn't have to brain them and was spared the worst of the carnage. They made their way forward.

"There. That's got to be the nest." Rafe pointed at a large, bulbous mass. It was pale green in colour and Rafe could swear the damned thing was _throbbing_. He could just imagine what Samantha would say if she was here. Ew, indeed. "Let's finish this."

It seemed as though the monsters weren't going to make things easy for them, though. They crawled out from the nest, scythe-like forelimbs raised menacingly. Rafe raised his guns.

A bolt of lightning sizzled and sparked across the air between them. When Rafe blinked, the insects were down, a smoking heap. Reno shrugged. "It seemed like the easier way to do it."

They looked at the nest. "Do you think you can fry it?"

"Maybe." Reno gave the nest a considering look.

"On three then." The nest fell under the combined attacks of the two Turks. They examined the damage.

"Looks like there's another hole that goes down." Just how deep down did the sewers go? And what the hell kind of insect built its nest over a hole in the ground?

They made their way down and forward, taking out Kimara Bugs as they went. Eventually, the path split into two. Rafe and Reno exchanged glances.

"It'll be quicker if we split up. I'll take the right."

"Then I'll go straight," Rafe replied. "Let's go."

It didn't take long for Rafe to find another nest. He wondered just how many of the blasted things were down here. Could they really take care of the problem between the two of them?

As before, Kimara Bugs came out from their nest to guard their unborn brethren. And again, Rafe dealt with them swiftly. He grimaced. He hadn't been able to avoid the splatter this time; as the nest had blown apart, he'd been hit. The bottoms of his trousers were covered in a sickly yellow liquid that looked like a combination of pus and jelly. He was just thankful that the dry cleaning service the Turks used was equipped to deal with stuff like this. Hell, now that he thought about it, they'd probably have had to deal with a lot worse.

"Oi, Rafe!" Rafe turned to see rounding the corner. "Looks like these passages connect together."

Rafe nodded. "I destroyed another nest." Her jerked his head at the remains of the monster hive.

Reno crouched down, letting out a small sigh. "Another hole."

"We should go down," Rafe said. He was getting pretty damned tired of this. He hoped this was the last hole. If they kept going down any further, they'd come out on the other side of the world.

Reno seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Yeah. Let's hope this is the end of it."

They clambered down the hole.

_To be continued..._


	29. Winter Day Disappointment

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

* * *

**Chapter 29: Winter Day Disappointment**

_Disclaimer: _Not miiiiine.

If Rafe never saw another Kimara Bug in his life, it would still be too soon. He and Reno had just found another nest, and as usual, bugs had come crawling out of it to defend it.

At least it was the last nest. They'd found the mother Kimara Bug. Watching it, Rafe had a brief mental image of a queen imperiously ordering her troops to move. It raised a sickled limb. Half a dozen of the smaller Kimara Bugs began their advance. With a whoop, Reno was off, smashing one bug and leaping into the air and literally stomping the life out of another one. He jumped back when one of them clawed at him and responded with a magical attack that downed two of them. Rafe took the other two out with his weapons.

Half a dozen more crawled out from the nest. And after they'd taken those down, yet another small horde. Reno clicked his tongue sharply. "Man, this is annoying. Hey Rafe, you think you can take care of this?" He gestured with a sweeping motion to the Kimara bugs all around them. Rafe nodded.

"Not a problem."

"That's a good rookie." Reno grinned. Rafe concentrated his energy into the Materia slotted into his bangle. Bursts of water shot up, hitting the smaller Kimara Bugs, who flew up into the air and landed with wet splat sounds. A few of them twitched, but Reno took care of them with his lightning attack. The combined water-lightning offence was enough to take them down, and they stopped moving altogether.

"All right. Time for the main event." Reno crouched low, appraising the mother Kimara Bug. It was making clicking noises and raising its clawed forelimbs. Reno smirked. "Looks like it's upset we killed its babies."

Veld had said that only water-based attacks would work on a fully grown Kimara Bug, and that was the way Rafe and Reno went. They went for a pincer movement, coming in on either side of the monster and besetting it with a deluge of attacks. They could hear the Kimara Bug scuttling uselessly on the now slicked surface of the concrete, clicking frantically. With a yell, Reno called upon his Waterga spell once more and the insect went flying at the force of the magical blow, slamming into the wall. Following seconds after Reno's attack, Rafe followed with a spell of his own, watching with satisfaction as five separate balls of water spouted from different directions and buffeted the Kimama bug.

The final blow came when Reno battered the defeated bug into the water running through the sewers. They exchanged a glance.

"Well, now that's settled, let's go see what's going on with Rude."

* * *

By the time they made it out of the sewers, Rafe's watch told him that midnight had come and gone, and it was now officially Winter Day Eve. Wearily, he waved goodbye to Reno, who said he was going to try and track Rude down. Whatever. As long as it didn't involve him, he was happy.

He could have bitten his tongue on that thought, because not five minutes after parting ways with the redheaded Turk, he saw one of the two people Reno was so interested in. What was her name again? Rude's girl. Rafe watched as she made her way down a small side street. But that was a dead end. Rafe frowned. And before he really had time to think about it, he was following her. The least he could do was see if she wasn't lost and send her on the way.

When he got there, he found no trace of the woman, but he did see a manhole cover. It was the only way she could have gone, unless she was some sort of magician. Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking ruefully at his soiled trouser cuffs. He really didn't want to take a second trip into the sewers, but civilians weren't supposed to be down there in the first place. There was nothing for it but to go down.

Landing quietly on the concrete below, Rafe perked his ears for any sound. He heard voices not too far from his current location. Taking care not to make any noise, he approached. Picking up speed, he slowed down again when the voices became distinct. They were just in the next chamber.

He peered carefully around the corner. His eyes widened at the scene before him. There was Rude's woman and with her were three AVALANCHE operatives.

_What the hell are they all doing down here? And is there where AVALANCHE has been hiding these last few months?_ The very idea that AVALANCHE had gone with the rats to lay low from Shin-Ra's radar tickled Rafe's funny bone. He brought his attention forcefully back to the situation in front of him.

"How long do we have to wait for you to get us any information?" an operative was demanding. Rafe's eyes widened. AVALANCHE… She was a spy? Was this what Reno had discovered the other night? Chelsea was shaking her head.

"I can't do this anymore." She sounded choked, as if she were holding back a sob. "I want to quit."

Everyone in that small chamber reacted instantly. Rafe watched as, to the last man, the operatives closed ranks on her. Their leader spoke for them.

"What? What are you saying? You're going to turn traitor?"

It seemed like it was something they had been expected, because they didn't waste time to wait for an answer, and as one, they moved to attack her. They ignored her protests. Rafe saw one of them taking out a handgun…

"Hold it right there." He'd done it again, for the second time that day: let his instincts take over his reason. He wasn't sure exactly what about this situation was bringing that side of him out, especially since he didn't want to get involved, but the fact of the matter was that he couldn't just let things happen as they stood.

The operatives stopped, gaping at Rafe's seemingly sudden appearance.

"T-t-th-the T-T-Turks?"

"She was followed? Get rid of her! Get rid of them both!" the leader shouted. At once, the other two fell into line. Rafe raised his handguns level with the chest of the armed operative and the leader, respectively.

Chelsea screamed as the first shot rang out. There was a thud, and the operative with the gun fell, blood gushing like a geyser from the hole in his throat. The second operative made a brave stab at offence, charging Rafe with a war cry that was supposed to bolster his courage. Rafe easily dodged and knocked the man out with the butt of one handgun. In one fluid motion he shoved the groaning man behind him, kicking him hard in the head with the heel of his shoe. That just left the leader.

"Damn it!" the operative swore. He ran at Rafe, who calmly raised his guns.

Foolish. Emotions only dulled one's common sense. Rafe watched the case in point go down dispassionately. He flicked his violet gaze to the woman. "You're not hurt, right?"

The woman shook her head. He could see her trembling even from this distance. She was staring wide-eyed at his weapons. With a sigh, Rafe put them away and held his hands up. Her eyes darted from his now empty hands to his face, her expression questioning.

"I just want to know why AVALANCHE attacked you."

"Because I betrayed them," Rude's woman said, after she'd swallowed the lump in her throat.

Rafe had long ago reached the conclusion, but he'd wanted to hear her say that for himself. His reaction would have been different had she tried to lie. "Your comrades? You mean AVALANCHE?"

"…yes." The woman looked down.

He stared at her for several moments. Then, flicking his gaze to a point beyond her head, he said, "You're… Rude's woman, aren't you?" _Why would you do something like this to him?_

* * *

It was bitterly cold. This was not surprising considering the time of year it was, but it still didn't stop Rude from noting the coldness. He wasn't particularly fond of it. Given a choice, he much preferred temperate climes or else the sun and warmth that came with places like Costa del Sol. Chill like this tended to shut him down in places, though he'd die before admitting that.

He waited. There were a lot of couples out on a night like this, arm in arm, laughing. Many of them would stop in front of the massive tree, lit up with a thousand little fairy lights. There was the flower seller he'd bought flowers from a few days earlier, doing a brisk trade as eager boyfriends bought little bouquets for their happy girlfriends.

Rude looked at his watch. A quarter past eleven. Fifteen more minutes, and Chelsea would be here with him. Rude fingered the little package in his jacket pocket. He hoped she would come sooner than later. He would have happily waited all night for her to turn up, but still…

It was very cold.

* * *

Rude's woman – Charlene? Alice? What was it? For the life of him, he couldn't remember her name – gripped one arm tightly as she waited for Rafe's response. It had been quite the tragic story. They could have made a movie out of it, or at the very least a heartfelt screenplay.

The woman was AVALANCHE. She'd been under orders to get close to Rude so she could pump him for information. She'd come to realize that the more time she spent with him, she more her feelings were changing. But as in those tales of star-crossed lovers, a love like theirs was not meant to last. The woman confessed that she'd been struggling for days to find the right answer: should she leave AVALANCHE to be with Rude? Or should she break things off with him and hold the memories they had created in her heart?

"After tonight, I think my decision has been made." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and Rafe had to lean in slightly to catch what she was saying. "I… was supposed to meet Rude today under the tree. But I won't go."

Rafe remained silent. He'd more or less been expecting her response. It was the wisest thing to do, after all, if she didn't want to put either of them in danger. The deaths of her comrades she could put down to an unfortunate accident and she could carry on. And by breaking up with Rude, she'd be sparing him the shit storm that would inevitably come when the brass discovered he was fraternizing with the enemy.

"AVALANCHE and the Turks are enemies," she said, raising her head and looking straight at Rafe. Though there was a small tremor in her voice, her eyes showed her resolve. "We can't be together. So… can you do me a favour?"

Rafe tilted his head in response.

"Tell Rude…" Her voice had gone soft again.

"Tell Rude that when I'm reborn I'd like to meet him again."

She turned and began to walk away. The action galvanized Rafe. "Wait –"

She half-turned. The expression on her face shocked Rafe to the core. "Please. Go to him quickly. He's not good with the cold."

He'd never seen an expression quite like that on anyone's face before. He'd never known anything like it until now. But he knew instinctively what it was. Love. True love, at that. Rafe grimaced down at his shoes.

Why? Just what was he supposed to do now?

* * *

Reno rubbed his hands together briskly before sticking them back in his pockets. He'd tried all the haunts he could think of, but he hadn't even gotten a trace on where Rude might be. None of the moles who usually kept tabs on what happened in Sector 8 could give him any leads; not even barkeeps from their usual spots had seen him that night. He was quickly running out of ideas. Reno blew out a frustrated breath. He didn't like the concept of surrender, though he knew its value and necessity. He especially didn't like the concept where it applied to his friends.

The only place left to look was the western part of the sector. Rude was a closet romantic, after all. Maybe he was there with his girl to look at the light up. If that was the case, he'd mark them for a while and then go home. He could have his talk with Rude the next day. If Rude wasn't there, well, he'd still have his talk with him. If Tseng, or heaven forbid, Veld ever found out about this…

Well, it just didn't bear thinking about.

The street he was on widened and the paved concrete beneath his feet gave way to cobblestones. There weren't that many people on the streets at this time of night, though he did pass the occasional couple, none of which were Rude and his bird. The lights here were just the slightest bit brighter, and up ahead, he could see a tall conical shape lit up in shades of white and blue: the Winter Day tree.

As he came up the slight incline in the path that eventually opened out into the park proper, he saw two familiar men in suits. Rafe and Rude. He grinned. Well, damn. For all the rookie said about not wanting to get involved in stuff that wasn't strictly business, he was doing a damned fine job.

He slowed his pace and the grin wore off when he saw the way they were standing. Come to think of it, if Rude was going to be here, he should have been with Chelsea. Which meant only one thing. He sighed.

"Sorry, buddy. But you know, maybe it was for the best."

He approached them, his pace slower.

* * *

Rafe had found Rude easily enough. He was hard to miss, seeing as how the park was nearly empty now and even the flower seller was packing up to go home. And yet there Rude stood, waiting as though he fully expected the woman to come running, apologizing profusely for being late. A part of Rafe squirmed uncomfortably. He didn't know how he was going to break this to Rude.

If Rude was surprised at Rafe's appearance, he didn't show it.

"Rafe… what is it?"

Rafe held back a grimace. "A message from your girlfriend. She says… she can't make it tonight." Or any other night for that matter, but he wasn't about to dump everything all at once on the other man. Trauma bombs were best dropped carefully, lest they do unaccounted-for collateral damage.

"Oh." It was difficult to tell just from that word what Rude was thinking. Despite the chill in the air, Rafe could feel beads of sweat starting to run down his back.

"Actually, she said that she won't be able to see you…"

"…ever again, right?"

Well, he'd gone and said it. Rafe nodded. After an uncomfortable pause: "Aren't you going to go after her?" Wasn't that what happened in those love stories?

"That's the decision she made," Rude replied.

"And you're okay with that?" He couldn't understand it. He'd never been in love himself, but he knew that there were some things a man should fight for. Wasn't this one of those things? Did she mean so little to Rude?

A voice cut through the stilted air. Rafe's head shot up. Reno. The man was actually running, waving his hand like a little kid. Rafe's eyes narrowed. Sometimes, he just couldn't understand why Reno did what he did.

Reno came to a stop and peered at Rude's face. His mouth tugged up into one of his trademark grins. "What's wrong? You don't look so good." His mouth, if possible, curved up higher. "You sentimentalist." He punched Rude in the arm. Rafe sucked in a breath.

"Shut up." But there was no anger in his voice. If anything, he sounded slightly amused. Reno laughed.

"It's cold out here! What the hell are we doing out on a cold and snowy night like this?" Reno stuck his hands into his pockets and began walking. "Come on. Let's go home."

"…yeah."

Rafe didn't understand them. He didn't understand how things could work out to this. He glanced up at the Winter Day tree, then at the retreating figures of the two senior Turks. But in the end, it seemed like things were okay the way they were. Maybe…

"Oi, rookie! If you don't hurry up we're gonna leave you behind!"

Rafe waved once in acknowledgement. He spared the tree one last glance.

Everything happened for a reason. And if this was the right thing, then, well…

It would have to be enough.

* * *

Rude was an optimist walking on the side of caution. He knew that Chelsea loved him. He'd been willing to do anything for her, even if it meant continuing a relationship that could undo them both in the blink of an eye. He'd been reasonably sure she'd be willing to do the same for him, which was why he'd waited in that park for as long as he had.

But a part of him had also known that she might not come. It had been there in her voice, and in the way she looked at him sometimes.

He didn't take it as an affront. He chose to see it as her way of showing her love for him.

And for Rude, this was enough.

* * *

The holidays were over. They'd all come back, safe and sound, if not grudgingly. At the moment, they were all seated in various parts of the bullpen. Samantha was prancing merrily around St. Andrew's cubicle. The man in question was sitting with his head balanced on the back of his chair, pointedly ignoring the other woman. Rafe was playing Solitaire on his computer. Reno was sitting on Rude's desk, telling him a story, and Rosalind was putting gift wrapping and shopping bags away.

"Thank you so much for the presents, Rosalind! They're lovely!" Samantha practically sang as she danced around with the small assortment of packages she'd received.

"It's no problem. I was just lucky to be in the right place at the right time," Rosalind replied. She looked around. "What did you all do on your holidays?"

Rafe only shook his head. Samantha proceeded to gush about the million and one new places in Midgar she'd discovered and how she'd sent some nice presents to her family back home. St. Andrew finally broke his vow of silence to shoot Samantha a rather nasty comment, to which she responded predictably by screeching at him.

Reno glanced at the clock on the wall. "The boss man's running late, yo." Rude shrugged.

"Just how long is this exec meeting anyway?" Reno clicked his tongue. It was at that moment that the door to their offices opened and all talk ceased. Rafe minimized the window on his game. Samantha stopped in mid-strike and turned her attention to the newcomer.

"We've got new orders." Veld announced, as usual without preamble. "We're upping the game plan. We're going to need more manpower to gather data on AVALANCHE. I'm sending you all out on orders. Reno, Rude, you're going to target Fuhito's special corps."

"Yes, sir."

"Roger that."

"The rest of you will be heading out to gather information. I'll be splitting you into two teams." He glanced at the other Turks. There was a chorus of acknowledgements all around.

"We're also hiring new Turks. I'll be sending them out act as your support as soon as possible."

Rude's expression didn't change. "New Turks…" He glanced at his partner, who leapt off the desk and grinned. It was clear that he was looking forward to this. That, and the fact that he'd finally be able to _move_ – sitting around had never been his style.

"Move out!" Veld ordered.

And so it began.

_Author's Notes: _Eh, the ending feels kind of rushed to me, but there you have it.


	30. The Beginning: Durman

**Before Crisis: The Beginning**

By DarkAngel

_Disclaimer: _It doesn't belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter 30: The Beginning (Durman)**

When Durman had been a little boy growing up, he'd wanted to be a policeman. To him, the uniformed men had represented justice, a commodity that the young boy discovered all too soon was sorely lacking in the world they lived in.

His family had been wholly supportive of his ambition, and when he was 15, he attended a junior training camp run by his local force. He had attended every single one until he'd graduated from school and was ready to join the big boys doing the real thing. While he hadn't been the top of his class, he'd stood out anyway. He was the big guy with the loud voice and heart as big as a Behemoth's belly. Everything about him was big. They'd called him Mr. Big, a nickname he'd laughed about.

He'd risen up through the ranks of the force, and eventually he'd left the main force to become a detective. While he missed the patrolling and the late nights with his comrades, he jumped at the chance to make an even bigger difference in the world around him. Instead of the petty thugs and burglars he'd been used to catching, he was looking at something on an entirely different level: drug cartels and international mafias.

It was while he was working on one of those cases that he first met them. People in black suits. They'd been watching him, they said. They'd kept tabs on him and his track record, and they wanted him.

"Who are you?" he asked. They'd simply told him to ask around.

What he'd found both horrified and disgusted him. Sanctioned criminals. That was the best way he could think of to describe them. They worked for one of the world's biggest companies, Shin-Ra. On the surface, their job was to conduct investigations in much the same way that he did and scout for candidates of SOLDIER. The reality was far more complex and disturbing.

Their first duty was to the company and its reputation. If something threatened to compromise the company, then they were authorized to any use means to quell that threat. Assassination. Hostage-taking. Murder. And a whole host of other things besides. And then there was the so-called scouting of SOLDIER candidates. He quickly discovered that not everybody entered that elite group of Shin-Ra because they wanted to. Kidnappings. Threats. Brainwashing.

It would be a cold day in hell before he joined their ranks.

Ten months and eleven days to the day he'd first been approached, hell froze over.

It was supposed to be a simple investigation. A shipment of illegal weapons making their way from Wutai into the port. There had been a lot of attacks lately in the suburbs outside of Costa del Sol proper. It was bad for tourism, the chief had said. More to the point, it was bad because it was bad. This was Durman's take on the whole sad story.

What had gone down exactly, Durman didn't know even to this day. All he'd known was that he'd been part of the raid on the place, and next thing he knew his name was being shouted for censure. Red carpet, out of the force, "you'll never work for any enforcement agency ever again", _legal charges_ – the ludicrous list went on. He was actually spending his night in a _holding cell_.

And then they were there again. Devils with a deal.

"You do realize what will happen if you keep refusing, don't you?" The man in question looked at him, his voice pitying. "Look, the fact of the matter is, they set you up for a fall."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Durman replied, his jaw set out in a stubborn line.

"I mean, your chief sold you down the river." The words came bluntly, without compassion.

Durman's eyes widened. What was this guy talking about? The chief would never do that. Not to one of his own. The force would never condone something like this…

"Let me draw you a picture, big guy. From everything I hear you're Mr. Justice himself." The man's mouth twisted up, as though he thought this was the funniest thing in the world. "Well, justice taken to its extremes upsets the balance of things, you see? So that weapons shipment? They were old confiscated weapons, a good number of which you were responsible for bringing in, big guy. They were planted there nice and easy to convince you that what was happening was an honest to goodness illegal shipment. And those traffickers were specially hired. What it looks like is that you attacked guiltless shipping company staffers – cuffed 'em, threw the book at 'em, and look where it got you." The amusement had never left the man's voice. "Whew. It's a nice piece of work, if you don't mind my saying."

No. This just couldn't be true. But then why wasn't anyone from the force coming to his aid? Why hadn't the chief come to take him out of here?

The man crossed his arms and made a satisfied sound. "Looks like you're finally catching on. Look, this can all be as water under the bridge. And let's face it, you're not going to work anywhere else with your tarnished record. So? How about it?"

"But why would they do this to me?" Durman demanded. "I put my whole damn life into this!"

"True, true. But maybe you invested a little too much in the wrong place." The man sighed. "Look, I'm sorry about what's happened, but that's the way it is." He paused. "You know, a guy once told me that your sense of justice differs depending on what you're fighting for."

Durman looked at him. The man elaborated.

"Say there's a guy who didn't get any kind of break when he was growing up. The 'system' –" the man made quotes with his fingers, "failed him. Big time. If he hadn't been picked up by, let's say for the sake of anonymity, Corporation X, he would have probably spent the rest of his life in the slums of Midgar dealing drugs or human trafficking. You've seen tons of cases like it before, right?" The man grinned lopsidedly. "So Corporation X picks this guy up, cleans him off, educates him. Gives him a place to call home and for the first time in his life this kid knows pride and belonging.

'Course there are those folks who say Corporation X is full of ambitious, greedy bastards who only bring misery and misfortune to everything they touch. But they've also saved not a few lives. To those people they saved, Corporation X is justice, not the system."

Durman's mouth quirked. "Is this your life story?"

The man wasn't about to be baited. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not really here to sell biographies or autobiographies." He leaned back against the cell wall. "So what do you say? I'm not going to spend the whole day knocking against brick walls, you know."

And that was how Durman became a Turk. Maybe Shin-Ra's turks were devils in suits. But he figured that if he could save people this way, then he'd gladly partner with the devil, time and again, to do it.

* * *

_Author's Notes: _Oh ho. Oh ho ho. We're finally introducing more characters. This one was the Martial Artist dude. I'm not entirely sure I'll be introducing the two extra characters that got added on much later (Nunchaku and Throwing Knife). I mean, they should have been there near the beginning of the story, but they weren't, and I'd feel kind of weird adding them in. =.=

Anyway, next up is Cyr (Grappler).


End file.
